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THE WASHITA 



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RECOLLECTIONS 

lorado, New Mexico and the Texas Panh 

ffieminisconcos of <x J 79&> 



To My "Friends in the Enchanting East 
To 55p/* Ctmpadres in the Fascinating West 



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CLAY ALLISON 
OF THE WASHITA 

First a Cow Man and then an Extinguisher of Bad Men 



RECOLLECTIONS 

OF COLORADO, NEW MEXICO AND THE 
TEXAS PANHANDLE 

Reminiscences of a 'jger 



To My Friends in the Enchanting East 

v. 

To Mis Compadres in the Fascinating West 



Copyrighted 1922* 
by O. S. Clark 



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OCT -6 1922 



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PEGGY HINER AND GRANDFADDA' 



HOW I HAPPENED TO WRITE CLAY ALLISON OF THE 

WASHITA. 

For a number of years there has been appearing in the 
Saturday Evening Post several interesting: stories of Western 
happenings, written by some eminent authors. At last there 
appeared a particularly interesting number and one where the 
scenes were laid close to some of my old stamping grounds, 
where I was doing my very best to be a good and well behaved 
Cow Puncher, relating incidents and mentioning some char- 
acters that I had heard of and some men that I knew, while "on 
the range." It occurred to me that perhaps one or two of these 
writers might know of others that I had known, so, with some 
fear and trembling, I wrote some of them, asking if they knew 
certain fellows in the old "wooley, eat' em alive" days. I men- 
tioned Clay Allison, whom I happened to know, and incidentally 
suggested that if they knew Clay, that they were the right ones 
to put in history the life of this "wooliest of the wooley," since 
he had so many weird and unique ways of killing his victims, 
some twelve or thirteen. It had been my privilege to be ac- 
quainted with this Masterful Man with the gun and I would like 
very much to see some of his exploits written by some men who 
knew him and knew how to write. I received some very kind 
and courteous letters from these writers and they answered 
that they did not know Allison, but since I knew him, that it 
would be advisable for me to gather such facts and all of the 
data possible and put it together in a sketch, and send it in, and 
that they thought they could dig out enough material to use 
for some future article in the Saturday Evening Post or some 
other magazine. I started this work, using odd times, and be- 
came very much interested, as the work enabled me to locate 
and renew many old acquaintances with whom I had not "fan- 
ned" for forty years and at the same time I have been gaining 
many new acquaintances "who were there" but whom I had not 
met. One man I dug up was Charley Seringo, now at Santa Fe. 
Charley was a frequenter of our country on the Palo Duro 
country of the Pan Handle, Texas, and knew and was associated 
with all of the big Cattle Men from the coast to Montana, as 
cow boy, as foreman of outfits, as Indian fighter, and as a 
chaser of all kinds of thieves, horse, cattle or otherwise, and 
of late years as a Wild West Detective, running down cattle 
rustlers, outlaws, and since which period has written several 
books. He told me of the sad fates of many I knew — some got 
in jail, some were hung — and he mentioned some who have 
crossed the Divide and how »ach left an enviable past. He 
mentioned one who was a prominent fighter at the Adobe Walls 
Battle, under Billie Dixon and Bat Masterson in 1874. He 
then calls my attention to his death "you knew him, he was a 



CLAY ALLISON OF THE WASHITA. 



The writer, together with two cow boy friends, Charley 
Shideler and Sam Hanna, had gone into NewMexico in the eigh- 
ties at different times and had purchased cattle, and driven 
them to the Pan Handle of Texas. 

Our principal stunt in the cattle trade was to take our out- 
fit, generally enough cow ponies, a mess wagon and three or 
four riders, and go into New Mexico and buy mixed cattle, and 
drive them on the trail to Texas or Colorado. We most always 
had made previous arrangements with some big cattle outfit 
for employment for wages with the privilege of running so 
many head of our own cattle on the employers range. When 
we arrived with the herd, we turned them loose and after they 
had fattened some we usually sold them on the range to our 
Boss on our count. We bought cheap, had no expense, we 
could not lose. 

On one of the trips to buy cattle we had gone into the 
Trimentena Creek country, some twenty or thirty miles from 
Las Vegas, where there had not been any rain to speak of for 
two years, and of course where the cattle were cheap and poor, 
but we decided to take a chance on being able to get them to 
the Pan Handle where, the grass was good, so we helped the 
Mexican Vaqueros round-up and cut-out what we thought we 
could handle, and after the usual dickering and collective bar- 
gaining, we made the trade and invested our little wad and 
started on the trail. 

We have in mind yet our first transaction and remember 
our deal was made through a Mr. Blanchard, in Las Vagas, 
New Mexico, who represented his mother-in-law, a Mexican 
lady by the name of Mrs. Del Desmarias. 

The cattle were so poor the Vaqueros had to round up for 
several days before they were able to get enough for us to make 
our selection from. They were so emaciated we could not put 
our road brand on and for a while we were obliged to tail 
them up in the morning and shove them along the trail. The 
other day I ran across the Bill of Sale for a part of the herd 
we bought, issued to us before we started with the cattle on 
the trail. It is well preserved and reads as follows : 

Trimintina Ranch, May 13, 1880. 
This is to certify that we have this day sold to Clark, Shid- 
eler and Hanna, for value received (180) One Hundred & Eigh- 
ty Dry Cows and (158) One Hundred and Fifty Eight yearling 
heifers branded AE,S-B,JG,NE, and we guarantee peaceable 
possession of the same. 

Chas. Blanchard. 
Mrs. Del Desmarias. 



We did our banking business with the Reynolds Bros, and 
I have in my possession a receipt for the 1st or 2nd deposit of 
money we made. The Reynolds, I understand, are still in the 
banking trade at Las Vegas. 

We started on the trail short-handed, short-grubbed and 
short-horsed, and after a day or two of driving hit the "Chas 
Les Goodnight Trail," as the natives called it. We'll never 
forgive him for locating it where he did. It was all right in 
shortening the distance from Mex to Tex, but otherwise it will 
shorten the span of every man's soul that ever drove cattle 
over that trail. After getting straightened out comfortably, 
and the cattle were doing fairly well, the two years of accumu- 
lative rain that had been coming to that country was dumped 
on us in about one week, but after many storms, stampedes and 
hardships, such as riding all day and night herding without 
relief, we finally struck our horn of plenty, God's Country, the 
Texas Pan Handle. While in camp one day at noon, you know 
at the noon hour with cattle on the trail the herd is turned 
loose to graze wh>le the cow punchers get their dinner and 
catch up a little on sleep. On this particular day with wood 
and water running by, handy to our camp, we were busily en- 
gaged in trying to coax the wet cow chips to burn so that we 
could cook our dinner and prepare the succulent sow belly and 
the dainty sour dough bread, in the true cafeteria style, 
Has the reader ever had any experience with a cow-chip 
camp fire in a rainy time? We should judge not. and 
we want to say new that no heaven born man v/ill ever 
reach that realm, that has ever had anything to do with 
that pesterin', pusillanimous kind of a cooking fire. It 
requires all of the juggling art of a Herrman, and all the blow- 
ing power of a Sampson, and all of the patience of a Job, to 
keep it alive. You may juggle it sidewise and length wise, 
and you may balance it under or over the Dutch Oven, skiletts, 
etc., and you may blow the last breath that is in you, and you 
may coax, and cuddle and pamper, but if it is in the proper 
mode it will calmly and cooly, and without passion, sputter its 
last breath on you, and then you will retire, and become the 
quiet, serene man that you should be — maybe. When dinner 
was ready and as usual one of the boys had expressed his wish 
that some of his rich relatives in the East could be present on 
that particular occasion and partake of that elegant lunch, 
which had all of the rich flavor that a real cow chip fire could 
give it, we noticed a lone horseman approaching. As he came 
nearer we noticed that he was well equipped with plenty of 
shooting irons and was riding a magnificent black gelding. 
When he got into the camp circle we invited him to light and 
have some dinner. He did so, and upon closer inspection we 
observed that he and his mount were completely covered with 
Winchester rifles, the regulation 45 Colts, and the conven- 
tional Bowie knives. As he sat down, he remarked that he 
was lost and inquired where we were. We stated that we were 
not certain, but thought that we were on the head waters of 
the Beaver — this afterwards proved true. He was a magnifi- 
cent type of man, handsome, six feet or more tall, with a clear, 
keen, blue eye; well dressed and he had the absolute qualities 
of a gentleman, polite in the extreme. After we had all circled 

10 



the camp fire and sat down we tried to relieve his reticence 
somewhat, as he seemed rather quiet and observing, by one of 
the boys, who was tender in the feet, asking some most unusual 
and unbecoming questions. This boy violated all the rules 
and regulations and specifications of polite Texas society. He 
went contrary to all of the customs and traditions of that elite 
communitiy, as every body should know, that all gentlemen res- 
idents of that country were expected to, at all times, taboo the 
delicate and touchy question of inquiring where you were from. 
The man realized at once that we were three very young and 
juicy Tenderfeet and he proceeded very slowly and deliberate- 
ly to answer any pertinent or personal questions. After a few 
common place remarks had passed and he had let us lope our 
heads off and had allowed us to circle around some, and the 
rope "had tightened on our necks sufficient," he said, as the 
Virginian would express it, "in a casual like way," that he was 
from the Washita Country and was then on his way to New 
Mexico, where he had a brother living, and who was at that 
time in trouble. We boys again got very busy with our ques- 
tions, as we had previously heard a great deal about a man 
by the name of Clay Allison who had considerable of a reputa- 
tion and name as a brave and daring character, and who it was 
reported, had killed some twelve or thirteen men, and had some 
fancy, unique and unusual ways of killing his men, all however 
in self defense — it was always, also decided both by public 
opinion and by the courts that the fellow who usually got kill- 
ed was always to blame for the row — and who we understood 
and had heard was from the Washita country. Blunderingly 
and ignorantly we bumped on more inquiries as to his asso- 
ciates and his associations, by 'asking him if he knew or had 
heard of Clay Allison in that country. Again he turned the 
subject and put the conversation on another tact, and taking 
his time, as old practiced cow punchers had a way of doing, he 
came back to the point in question, and said quietly, determin- 
edly and with some emphasis, that he was CLAY ALLISON, 
"What are you going to do about it?" Well, we were sudden- 
ly struck with the drunken reels and some fancy knee shaking. 
We couldn't even get up off our haunches or fall over, we were 
so scared so we did oar best to keep from swallowing our Adams 
Apple and choking to death. Finally suspecting that at that 
particular time he might be perfectly harmless we were de- 
termined to keep him that way if possible, and we at once be- 
came three! of the best table waiters the banks of that old 
Beaver Creek had ever seen. It was Allison, or rather Mr. 
Allison, have some more meat (and meat was durn scarce too), 
and it was Clay, or rather Mr. Allison, take more of these ele- 
gant sour dough sinkers, and it was Mr. Allison take plenty of 
the Frijoles (and it was over sixty miles to more beans). We 
sure did keep his plate, side boards and all, well filled, and he 
did sure eat some, which fact verified his statement that he 
had been living on Jack Rabbits for two or three days and was 
some hungry. When the time arrived for the dessert, we of 
course apologized, as his coming at that time had found us un- 
prepared, as the rich cream that we had been using had failed 
to whip, so that the best we could do was to offer him just plain 
prunes. We lied a little about the cream — we hadn't had any 

11 



since the fall before. He seemed to have a regular prune 
tooth, as he cleaned out that Prune Ranch in short order. 

After having devoured the most of our lunch there was 
nothing more to say or do, so v/e all arose together, at one and 
the same time, that was another necessary and precautionary 
practice, due to the experience and mistakes that some of the 
former citizens and old timers had made, by remaining on the 
ground in a sitting position too long, so that the other fellow 
got the drop. When he expressed the notion that he "must 
pull his freight" one of us took special pains and pride in di- 
recting him on the right trail, and another helped him cinch 
his saddle and arrange his artillery, while the other filled his 
holsters and saddle bags with the balance of the grub that was 
in camp. 

It was a pleasing and relieving sight to see Mr. Allison, 
with his magnificent array of preparedness disappear over the 
darkening horizon. It was always a source of gratitude to us 
that he did not, while visiting us and partaking of our hospital- 
ity get funny with his guns and shoot at our toes just to see us 
dance the highland fling and make our hair stand up pompadore 
like, but as I have said before he was considered a perfect 
gentleman, either in a fight or a visit. And thus we first knew 
Clay Allison. 

As we watched him cut the divide we then, as usual, loaded 
the mess wagon and each one hid his plate and cup. That 
was necessary, because in every trail camp some one of the un- 
scrupulous members might, if the plates and cups were all as- 
sembled in the box, be so unconventional as to pick out the 
nicest and cleanest licked plate for himself and leave the dirty 
ones for the rest. It was very seldom that the dishes got 
washed on account of the scarcity of water, both body and cul- 
inary. After we rounded up the cattle we silently, thought- 
fully and reverently pointed the leaders down the long trail 
and dressed up the side lines and commenced to wallop the 
drags toward the cottonwoods and breaks of the Palo Duro 
country. 

As I have mentioned before, Allison told us that he was 
going to his brother's place in New Mexico, as his brother was 
in trouble. We learned afterwards that it was on this partic- 
ular trip of his, or one previously, that Clay got in a very close 
and dangerous situation, while engaged in a free for all fight 
against some of his own or his brother's old time enemies. The 
odds were terribly against him, so much so that he had to de- 
fend his life by shooting his way out. When the census was 
taken there were two dead and several wounded. I think that 
this occured near Las Vegas, New Mexico. 

On another occasion, after our first acquaintance, we met 
Allison in New Mexico, but by that time we had grown a little 
wild and wooly ourselves, so much so that our teeth did not 
chatter when we came in contact with noted men like Allison, 
and again we found him the perfect gentleman and the true 
knight of western valor and honor, and at the same time always 
ready to kill any one who needed it. 

It's appropriate and fitting at this time to tell about the 
true character and the many fine qualities of this cleaner up 
of bad men. This comes from first hand and is told by one of 

12 



the boys who was with the party on the Beaver, previously 
spoken of, Sam Hanna, when Allison rode into our camp. This 
hoy met Allison afterwards in the Palo Duro country and spent 
some days with him and had a good chance and opportunity to 
study his makeup. He says: "He lived in the Washita coun- 
try not far from Mobeetie. I am not sure whether his ranch 
was in Wheeler county or Hemphill county. I remember him 
quite well and had a nice visit with him once at our ranch when 
you were not there. He was a quiet, unassuming man, with no 
element of the desporado about him. He never killed any one 
except in self defense, but he had about one dozen to his credit, 
all of whom needed killing for the good of society. The bad 
men were always hunting him and we expected he would event- 
ually die with his boots on, but, strange to relate he had a most 
unusual and strange, not at all in keeping with his past, death. 
He died in bed from the result of an injury received in falling 
off a loaded wagon and the wagon running over his neck. 

"He once told me that he was not a good shot at a mark, 
except when the mark was a bad man. He seemed to think 
that he had just been simply lucky." 

One of the stories, which has been vouched for, was about 
his killing a bad Mexican desperado in the dining room of the 
hotel (I suppose the Wright Hotel) at Dodge City. The Mexi- 
can came in the room with his gun in his hand, expecting to 
catch Allison off his guard. Clay had heard that the fellow 
was looking for him and had said he was going to kill him. 
Allison had taken a seat in the rear of the dining room, facing 
the door, with his gun in his lap. When the Mexican entered 
the room with his gun drawn, Allison quickly pulled up and 
shot him in the center of the forehead, killing him instantly 
and proceeded to finish his meal without rising from his chair. 

On another occasion, when he was living on the Washita, 
he went to Dodge City for supplies, with his guns on him as 
was his usual custom. At that time the authorities were try- 
ing to enforce an ordiance requiring every one to disarm on 
entering the town. One reason given for this was the fact 
that that thickly populated cemetery, Boot Hill, was becoming 
crowded. When the marshal demanded and ordered that Clay 
remove his pistols, Allison protested, stating that it would be 
as much as his life was worth to lay them off for even one hour. 
After a conference on the part of the officials they decided that 
he must be disarmed. When they gave Clay the ultimatum he 
said to them, "Gentlemen, when these pistols go off they will go 
off smoking." They knew they would have to kill him if they 
persisted in their action, this they did not want to do, so they 
reconsidered the matter and gave him the freedom of the city 
and it's told that he -:lid not abuse the privilege in any way and 
left town in a decent and orderly manner. 

Allison was on the first grand jury ever convened in Hemp- 
hill County, Texas, the foreman of which, "Uncle Dick Bussell, 
a veteran of the Adobe Walls Indian fight, still lives in Cana- 
dian. Texas. While Bussell was not exactly in the fight and is 
not mentioned by Billie Dixon, he was on his way, but arrived 
after it was all over. There was a preponderence of citizen- 
ship just like him on that grand jury, as they stayed a little 
tipsey so much that the Foreman could not get them to act on 

13 



any bills of indictment. He kept them together for twenty- 
eight days before he gave up trying to turn in some indictments 
to the court, and Clay was just as hilarious when turned loose 
as he was the first day that he served as a grand juror. 

Getting to the ridiculous side of Allison we have it related 
that on one occosion he rode into town and stopped his horse at 
the top of what is known now as College Hill, (we think located 
at' Canadian, Texas). He removed all of his clothes except his 
boots, which he left on. He then tied his clothes on behind 
his saddle and rode down through the town on the run, shoot- 
ing and yelling, and so proceeded with the exhibition until he 
reached the outskirts of town. As he was a tall man of strik- 
ing proportions this ride made something of a sensation, even 
in those days. 

T. D. McCarthy who is very familiar with many of the old 
timers and also the border towns, in confirming the episode just 
related, describes College Hill in this way, and writes. "Col- 
lege Hill you speak of is at the head of Main St. in Canadian. 
This town is built on a fairly steep hill side, and on top of the 
hill, on a flat, is a big brick school house, hence the name — Col- 
lege Hill." 

Probably the most dramatic and dramaturgy of all Alli- 
son's fights occured at Las Animus, Colo., where one of the of- 
ficers of the town had a fear and hatred for Allicon, and had 
stated that if he ever got the drop on him, Allison, he would 
shoot to kill. On this fateful day Allison and his brother John 
went into a dance hall, when the marshal came in and ordered 
them not to go on the floor with their guns on their hips. Clay 
said, "You notice that the rest of the boys still have their guns 
on. Why do you order us to take our guns off when you don't 
the other fellow?" The officer went out and the two brothers 
separated, each going to opposite sides of the room. The of- 
ficer came back and Clay was watching the door, as he always 
did on such occasions, and his brother was watching the dance. 
The Marshal pushed open the door and threw down a double 
barreled shot gun loaded with buckshot on the first of the boys 
he saw, not knowing exactly where the other of the brothers 
was. Clay yelled. "Look out" and as he yelled all three shot, 
at one and the same time. Clay and his brother both shot the 
marshal through the heart. It was impossible to tell which 
killed him. The buckshot splintered the right arm and pene- 
trated the right side of John. Clay immediately demanded a 
doctor for his brother before he would consent to arrest. John 
Allison was taken to the army post and later recovered from 
his wounds. Clay then consented to be arrested, providing 
they would not put the chains on him. But when he was dis- 
armed they took advantage of him and chained him to the wall 
of his cell. He was finally liberated on habeas corpus proceed- 
ings and before the court set the trial, all of the dance house 
girls, ditto gamblers, etc., had received transportation to New 
York, Palm Beach, and San Francisco, or some other and sun- 
dry places, and consequently there were no witnesses, hence the 
boys came clear. Ferd Davis' account of this battle comes 
nearer being authentic, since he knew the participants and was 
a partner of Clay Allison. He says : — 

"There were two dance halls in Las Animas, they were 

14 



drinking some but were not making any disturbance. Charlie 
Faber was town mars hall. He went to Clay and told him that 
he would have to give up his arms. Allison told him no, said 
he would give his pistol to hisH brother John, which he did. 
Charlie went out to get a shot gun, but while he (Charlie) was 
gone Clay gets his pistol from John, and when Charlie returned, 
he had Tom Russell open the door and he (Charlie) fires one 
barrel of his gun into John Allison, but the next barrel goes 
into the floor. Clay killed Faber instantly. I never knew 
Allison to give up his gun but once, and that was to Dick 
Wooton, Jr., former sheriff of Las Animas county. He knew 
Dick didn't want to murder him. Clay Allison fell off a wagon 
and was killed. 

At the beginning of the civil war he was on his father's 
farm down in Tennessee, and he learned to fight during the 
civil war, and you know what General Sherman said war was. 
When sober he was pleasant and kind. So young man let 
whiskey alone. For "Wine is a mocker, and strong drink is 
raging, and he that is deceived thereby is not wise." 

In Allison's early days on the Washita the usual epidemic 
of cattle rustling broke out in his neighborhood. Calves were 
seen with mysterious brands, and they were not Mavericks 
either. Steers and cows would have their brands changed, 
some so recent that the burnt flesh would indicate that it was 
the handiwork of the rustler. The situation got so tense that 
the decent cattle men called for a meeting of the cow men to 
be held at some central ranch. The meeting was at night and 
after a good deal of discussion as to who were doing the dirty 
work, and suggesting means of catching the thieves, and no 
practical indications for finding or catching the rustlers, Clay 
Allison arose from his chair, and in his cool and deliberate way 
addressed the meeting. He said, "Men do you want to know 

who these d cattle thief rustlers are?" They said yes. 

Allison shouted, pointing his finger, "There they are. It's the 

A boys." As he pointed toward them he said, "And D 

you know it." There was an instant shifting of guns, and each 
individual looked for a point of vantage. After a moment of 
intense silence the strain was broken by the A boys pull- 
ing their guns and leaping for the open doorway. They dash- 
ed around the corner of the house toward an open window lead- 
ing into the house, when some one noticed their actions and 
called to Allison, "Look out or they will shoot you through the 
window." With both pistols drawn he leaped to the corner of 
the room and yelled, "Come back here you calf stealing cattle 
rustlers." They slunk off in the darkness, knowing down in 
their dishonest hearts, that at the next meeting with Clay Al- 
lison their time would have arrived. He hated a sneak, he dis- 
pised a thief, he loathed a cattle rustler. The A boys dis- 
appeared and went to a different climate for better or worse. 

Allison naturally despised the cheap murdering Mexican 
desperado, and was most always in the mode to soak one if he 
needed killing. The following story illustrates how quickly 
and expeditiously he sent one to the bone hill. This Mexican 
had a big sombrero and was holding it in front of his stomach 
trying to hide the action of his right hand in reaching for his 
gun, after an altercation with Allison, and Allison shot him 

15 



through the heart before he could pull. The acting Sheriff 
did not have the nerve to place Allison under arrest, and he 
represented to a Captain of the military post that there was a 
notorious out-law resisting arrest and he would have to have 
some soldiers' help to make the arrest. The Captain and some 
soldiers went out to get Allison. When Allison found out 
what they wanted he asked the sheriff why he did not come out 
and call for him himself without bringing up the United States 
Army. As soon as the Captain heard this he said, "This is 
different, if that's the case you are at liberty to stay here and 
you do not have to go to town with me." Allison said to the 
Sheriff, "Did you ever try to arrest me?" "NO." "Did I 
ever refuse to be placed under arrest?" Again he answered 
"NO". "Well then why didn't you come out here like a white 
man and get me?" Finally the Captain remarked that he was 
going back, and Allison said he guessed he would also go back 
w'th him and clear the matter up. He was all prepared to go 
and told the Sheriff to ride about fifty yards in the rear "like 
a pup," because he, Allison, had some pride and didn't want 
people in town to see him riding in the same company as the 
sheriff. They came to a creek or water hole and were prepar- 
ing to dismount for a short rest when Allison exclaimed, "Wait 
a minute. I don't want to desecrate good, honest ground while 
there is inferior dirt around" — meaning the sheriff. Then he 
made the officer of the law remove his little narrow brimmed, 
close fitting felt hat, which he filled with some sweet smelling 
water from an odoriferous water hole. He then commanded 
the sheriff to put on his hat, without spilling a drop or he would 
kill him, and he was to wear it clear into town, and riding be- 
hind all of the way. The sheriff was glad to follow instruc- 
tions, though it must have been humiliating to a grandiose high 
sheriff. 

One of the most interesting letters that I have received 
recently is from Jim East, Ex-Sheriff in the early days at Tas- 
cosa, and he, having a splendid memory, has told me a little 
more regarding Allison, although his story connected with 
Sheriff Rhinehart does not fit with the story as told above, 
either by Ferd Davis or W. W. Owen, both early partners of 
Clay Allison. Jim says : — "I am glad to get your letter of Nov. 
2nd, 1921. I am always glad to hear from an old timer of the 
Pan Handle. In answer will say that I last saw Clay Allison 
of Mobettie, Tex., in June, 1882. I was on the round-up in 
charge of a Bar X wagon that year. Allison lived then on the 
Washita, north of Mobettie, but later moved to the Pecos Valley, 
New Mexico. There he met with an accident that caused his 
death, which I was sorry to hear. A freight wagon ran over 
his neck and killed him. (W. W. Owens tells the full account 
of his death, but does not mention where it occurred.) Allison 
was a strong character, true to his friends, but dangerous to 
his enemies. Clay was inclined to be unreasonable when drink- 
ing, but at other times a good friend and neighbor. His broth- 
er, John, had, I consider, better and cooler judgment in a fight 
than Clay. Not so ready to start a fight, but a "stayer". The 
Old Timers on the Cimmanon in Colfax County, New Mexico, 
used to relate some good stories of Allison — probably you re- 
member some of them On one occasion Clay went into a res- 

16 



taurant in Cimmarron to get dinner. At the table was a 
mortal enemy, by the name of "Chalk", who it appears was look- 
ing for Clay, and had pulled one of his six shooters, and some 
say laid it by his plate. Clay however, was too quick for him. 
He shot and killed "Chalk" in his seat. After getting dinner 
Clay leisurely mounted his horse and rode out to his ranch. 
Some days later Sheriff Rinehart obtained a warrant for the 
arrest of Allison and rode out to the ranch to serve same, and 
bring in his prisoner. Clay asked the Sheriff to see the war- 
rant which was handed him. Clay then tore it up, reached 
over and took the sheriff's hat off his head, took it to a water 
hole and filled it with dirty water and put it back on the Sher- 
iff's head. After the Sheriff got the water out of his eyes he 
mounted his horse and rode back to town without his prisoner. 
When it suited Clay's convenience he rode into town voluntari- 
ly and appeared in court for trial. He was acquitted of course. 
I did not see the above occurrence but Jule Howard our old 
Postmaster at Tascosa related it to me and vouched for its 
truth. 

By the way Jule Howard killed the first white man that 
was killed in Tascosa. This man's name was Bob Russell and 
a son-in-law of old Ex-Sheriff Rinehart, formerly of Cimmarron, 
New Mexico." Jim gives me more interesting information 
about Dave Berry and Henry Boice. We sold our last herd to 
these men. He writes as follows : "Dave Berry of the old 
777 ranch (ours was a part of this ranch on the Palo Duro). 
died in Montana. Henry Boice (Henry was the Manager of the 
outfit) was his partner up there, but some time after that Boice 
was engeged in the cattle commission business in Kansas City. 
Then he came back to the Pan Handle and managed XIT ranch 
at Channing, Texas, just north of Tascosa. After closing up 
the company cattle business he came to Arizona and had inter- 
ests in the Chitahua Cattle Co. Henry Boice died quite a 
wealthy man about three or four years ago, but was not shot 
and killed in Fort Worth, as you were informed." 

As an illustration of Allison's devilish disposition and his 
boisterous ways, it is told that on one of his many trips to New 
Mexico, he seemed to shuttle back and forth from Tex to Mex 
pretty often. He hung up at Las Vegas and was taken with an 
attack of the toothache. He visited a dentist and the operator 
pulled what was thought to be the trouble maker. Allison left 
the office and sauntered down the street, between drinks. From 
some cause or another the whiskey did not have that quieting 
and soothing effect that most good whiskey was expected to 
have, and the pain returned. This time he decided to visit a 
different dentist. He did so and the operator told him that 
the first dentist had pulled the wrong tooth. Allison left 
the office and headed for the first one under full sail and all 
cylinders wide open. He arrived spitting blood, and fire in 
his eye He grabbed the operator and at the same time snatch- 
ed the forceps, threw the man down, and held him until he had 
pulled the most of his teeth out, then he released him and said, 
"Good day sir." 

For forty years we have had a faint memory of a story that 
was told us about that many years ago with reference to one of 
Allison's most thrilling and unique manner of killing his vic- 

17 



tims, and of late we have made many endeavors to reach the 
facts connected with this particular episode, but after writing 
a great many letters, making or having made for me investiga- 
tions, we had almost given it up and decided that it all must 
be a myth or fiction or else we had dreamed it, although we had 
remembered quite distinctly of passing close to the place where 
it had happened and no doubt the natives had told us about it 
at the time. 

And I had also remembered of having read in the Kansas 
City Times an account of this particular encounter and killing. 
This must have been some thirty years ago. I had made a 
clipping of the story and gave it to my wife for safe keeping. 
As the years advanced I would occasionally ask her if in the 
annual "round up" of house cleaning she might be able to find 
this carefully stored away newspaper yarn. It was impossible, 
she said, to find it, so it finally became a yearly night mare and 
I think she got a little sore and said once that I never gave her 
any such thing, besides it was rough stuff anyway and ought to 
be lost. Well this spring we found it and the story of Alli- 
son's killing Chunk is verified. The writer of this article how- 
ever is considerably off regarding Allison's habits in after life 
and some other statements, since Ferd Davis and others give 
us the true facts of his death and how it was caused. The 
Kansas City Times story is as follows : 

The man who told the story between the puffs of his cigar 
was from Texas, says the Kansas City Times. "Clay Allison's 
life was a tragic romance," he began. "Clay Allison was a 
desperado. He lived in the Red River country, in the Pan 
Handle. His trigger finger was busiest in the early '80s. His 
record was twenty-one. He boasted of it. Twenty-one dead 
men, whose graves were scattered from Dodge City to Santa Fe. 
I myself saw him kill Bill Chunk, a bad man, who shot people 
just for fun of seeing them fall. The two men had no cause 
for quarrel. They were the prize killers of the same section 
of the country. It was a spirit of rivalry which made them 
swear to shoot each other on sight. Their friends bet on the 
result of their first chance reconotre. They met one night at 
a cross-road inn in New Mexico and sat down at tables opposite 
each other, with their drawn six-shooters resting on their laps 
beneath their napkins. A plate of oysters on the shell had 
just been set before Chunk, when he dropped his hand, in care- 
less fashion, and sent a ball at Allison beneath the table. Quick 
as a leap of lightning Allison's gun replied. A tiny red spot 
between Chunk's eyes marked where the bullet entered. The 
dead man rolled over on the table and was still, with his face 
downward in the dish of oysters. 

"Allison was a large cattle owner. He went on a drive to 
Kansas City once, and while here fell in love, married, and took 
the woman to his home in the west to live. A child was born 
to them — a child whose face was as beautiful as the face of a 
cherub, but whose poor little body was horribly deformed. Al- 
lison loved the child with the great love of his passionate na- 
ture. In the babe's misshapen and twisted form his super- 
stitious mind read a meaning as significant as that of the mes- 
sage which the divine hand wrote on the palace walls of the 
king of old in Babylon. God, he thought, had visited a curse 

18 



upon him for his sins. He quit his wild ways. He drank no 
more No man ever after the birth of his child fell before his 
deadly pistol. He was completely changed. In the new life 
which followed he devoted himself with absorbing energy to 
his business interests. He became rich in time. Ten thous- 
and cattle on the Texas ranges bore his brand. A few years 
ago he was driving from his ranch in a heavy road wagon to 
town. The front wheels jolted down into a deep rut. Allison 
was pitched headforemost to the ground. His neck was broken. 
The team jogged on ?'nto the distance and left him lying there 
dead and alone upon the prairie.' " 

I never heard of the circumstances he mentions connect- 
ing Allison's life with the afflicted child, and I think the mag- 
intude of his wealth is considerable exaggerated, as are some 
of the rest of the statements, but the story of Chunk's death 
corresponds very closely with Ferd Davis's account. I note 
that this writer says he was present at the fight, I very much 
doubt it, because usually on such occasions spectators were 
pretty scarce, in fact, as a rule, there were no printed or other 
kind of invitations issued. 

Now we have also to announce that some one has just sent 
to our address a newspaper, of recent number, containing a full 
description, giving in detail all of the circumstances connected 
with same and the place where it occurred, which was at Clif- 
ton, New Mexico, and it agrees exactly with the story and loca- 
tion as it was told us forty years ago. This newspaper ac- 
count, is the product of Ferd Davis of Sunflower Valley, Colo., 
who was one of the earliest partners of Allison, and to whom 
we had written, but not having received any reply we despaired 
of getting him to answer. I presume we are indebted to him 
for this newspaper copy and we thank him. He tells the story 
and also other stories, accurately and with effect as follows : 

"Clay Allison was a native of Tennessee, was six foot, two 
inches tall, weight about 175, black hair and big blue eyes, high 
forehead, and chin whiskers. He was a cripple. He never 
was shot but once, he did that himself accidentally. It made 
him a cripple for life. This shot was in the instep of his right 
foot. It was difficult for him to walk any great distance. Dur- 
ing the civil war he was in the southern army, was captured, 
tried and condemned as a spy, and was sentenced to be shot. 

There are some of the old timers who will read this article 
know Clay Allison as well as myself. They know that he had 
a very small hand, more like a woman's than a man's. The 
evening before be was to be shot the next morning, he slipped 
off the hand cuffs, killed the guard and got away. This story 
was told me by his brother, Monroe Allison, and I do not ques- 
tion it 

In 1873 there was a desperado by the name of Chunk, who 
killed Walter Walled on the San Francisco between former 
Senator Barela's ranch and Trinidad. It was said that Chunk 
had killed 14 men. He went from here to New Mexico, saying 
that his next man would be Clay Allison. It was but a short 
time till the two men met at the "Old Clifton" house in Colfax 
County, New Mexico. Both of these had good horses, those 
big blue eyes were gazing on Chunk for the first time, and if 
there ever was a man could read a gun man's thoughts it was 

19 



Allison. The first thing to do of course was to take a drink, 
and the next thing another drink until both men were filled with 
the worst stuff that ever went down a man's whistle. One 
proposed a horse race, and they went down to the race track 
below Old Clifton and ran a race, then they took some more of 
that stuff that destroys the youth and business qualities of a 
young man. 

"Chunk beat Clay in the horse race, and there was some 
words between the two men, Allison slapped Chunk in the face, 
finally Chunk pretended to apologize. He told Clay he was 
sorry any trouble had come between them, and that he (Chunk) 
would give a supper to show his sincerity. So Chunk ordered 
the supper, and it was to be served by an old Spanish-American 
woman and it was to be across the road from the Clifton House 
in a lonely cabin. By the time supper was ready it was neces- 
sary to have a lamp because it was dark. The two men's plates 
were put facing each other, and they sat down to supper as 
friends, but I don't think either of them enjoyed their meal or 
paid much attention to what was on the table. Both men must 
have had their pistols on their laps. Chunk made a desperate 
attempt to pull his gun, but struck the table with the barrel, 
then Allison drew his gun and shot him in the head, it was 
proven beyond a doubt that Chunk wanted the name of kill- 
ing Allison." 

"There was a man by the name of King at Crow Creek who 
had a vega, and King would dog his cattle a long ways over the 
country. Allison rode up to where King was digging a well 
and told him he must quit dogging his cattle, King became very 
abusive, had his shot gun leaning against the windlass of the 
well. Allison sprang like a lion between him and his gun, he 
cut King all to pieces with a knife. There was a man in the 
well, Allison pulled him out, got on his horse, went to Cim- 
maron City and sent out a doctor. King recovered. 

"Allison's next trouble was caused by a preacher, I think 
he was a Methodist. Whatever church he belonged to ought 
to have his record, for he was a fearless preacher of early days. 
His name was Golby. He was murdered between Cimmaron 
City and Taos. It was thought at the time that some one hired 
him murdered. The murder had been committed sometime, 
and the murderer was still at large. There was another 
preacher (don't remember his name) went around to all of the 
cow camps in the country showing the bloody saddle that 
preacher, Goldby was riding when he was killed. He told the 
cow boys that he knew the man that committed the murder, and 
knew where he was. Allison and some very prominent cattle- 
men of that day started to hunt for the murderer > and took the 
preacher along to identify him. They caught him. The 
preacher says, "We will now turn him over to the authorities." 
Allison told him, "We are the authorities." The preacher says, 
"I want him to have justice." Allison says, "I will see that 
he gets justice, according to your testimony." A few days 
after Allison went to Cimmaron City. Pancho, who was town 
marshal hadn't been there but a short time. The two men had 
never met before. They went into Lambert' saloon, and took 
drinks together. Pancho asked Allison to step back in the 
corner of the saloon, as if he had something confidential to 

20 



say to him, and Lambert heard the report of a pistol, and look- 
ed back in the corner and saw Pancho dead. Pancho was 
known to have killed several men. 

"There was a company of colored soldiers sent out from 
Santa Fe to arrest Allison. They surrounded I. W. Lacey's 
house where they found him. The captain demanded his sur- 
render, Allison told him that he would go with him anywhere 
if he would allow him to keep his arms. The captain agreed 
to do so. Allison was taken to Cimmaron City and turned over 
to Sheriff Rinehart. The sheriff says, "what can I do with 
him." The captain told him to take as many soldiers as he 
needed, so he asked for ten men, and started with Clay Allison 
to Taos. On the way Allison pretended that he wanted to re- 
cinch his saddle. He jumped behind a big rock and told Rine- 
hart he would have to take the other end of the road, which he 
did. One of the colored soldiers says: "If de sheriff don't 
want Mistah ADison, what use have we for him." So Allison was 
left behind the rock " 

Cap Arrington, who is still living and enjoying the quiet- 
ness and retirement that is due the old timer, and who was in 
his day a snappy and fearless officer of the law, and in com- 
mand of a company of rangers, had the following experience 
with Allison. A fr ; end now of Lipscomb, Tex., knew Cap. Ar- 
rington very well, he writes me and says, "I always called him 
Harrington, thinking that was his name. He belongs to old, 
and the good old type of Texas Rangers. This is a story told 
by Cap himseff. The Captain was sent, with a detail to Rob- 
erts County to be present and to assist in holding down the lid 
a little, while the boys organized the county. He and his com- 
pany stopped at Fort Elliott, and were entertained and detain- 
ed and encanteened Jong enough so that the Captain learned 

the P 1 was in the vicinity. The Cap was not hunting 

P — 1 particularly, but knew there was a warrant for him, so de- 
cided to go and get P 1 and bring him into Elliott. P 1 

had his trial and was acquitted. He found Allison was pres- 
ent also, and had just bought P l's cattle and had paid 

down a small amount, with the understanding that the con- 
tract would be completed in Mobettie. They all met at Elliott 
on their way to Mobettie, and Allison in his devilish, joking way 
slipped up behind the Captain and removed his pistol. Cap 
told him with a calm and firm voice to "put the gun back". He 
did so. While Allison was itching for a fuss, he very seldom 
started one. They drove the cattle on to Mobettie and Al- 
lison proceeded to pay over the balance of the purchase price 
to P — 1. Arrington told him not to pay the money to P — 1, as 
a prisoner could not receive money while under arrest. P — 1 
consented to this, providing the Captain would give a receipt 
for the money. Allison immediately demanded a receipt from 
Arrington also. The latter refusing to issue two receipts Al- 
lison got hostile and commenced to shift for position but Ar- 
rington was a little quicker in this instance and Clay realized 
that he had best back up and retire, under the existing circum- 
stances. 

An old time beef buyer for the government, first at Fort 
Dodge until about 1880, and then at Fort Elliotte, knew Clay 
Allison well, and at times Allison would stop at his place and 



spend some days with him. Allison told him the details of hi* 
troubles and fight in New Mexico that have been referred to 
before, where it was mentioned that he was on his way to New 
Mexico to get his broker, John Allison, out of a scrape. 

He also tells of a trip with Allison on horse back, and he 
had been told before starting, that if Allison ever asked him 
to take a drink, to be sure and drink, as Allison would in all 
probability kill him if he refused. After they had been on 
their way some time Clay pulled his bottle and passed it to him 
saying, "Take a drink" but he only smiled and thanked him, 
saying "he never drank." Allison took a regulation drink at 
that time but not another one on the entire trip. He also tells 
of an incident that occurred while Allison and he were on an- 
other trip. When they went into camp, Allison being pretty 
tight, found a certain species of what is called citron melon 
which grows wild in that section, and Allison in his maudlin 
condition mistook it for a water melon and made all kinds of 
frantic efforts to cut it open. That Citron could not have been 
opened with a buzz saw. 

A very entertaining story is told of Clay Allison in "The 
Sunset Trail", written by Alfred Henry Lewis, and all credit 
is due the writer of this book for the vivid and true-to-life way 
he puts things that happened in the "bad man" age. However, 
there is some diverging opinions as to just the part that Bat 
Masterson took on this occasion and one of the boys who was 
present at this little pink tea, puts a different light on the facts 
from what Alfred Henry Lewis does. Charley Seringo, who 
has written me relating to his views of this fight or rather lack 
of a fight, is quite different, and does not give Bat quite as much 
Lime Light as Lewib does. Charley was one of the twenty- 
six Cow Boys who came all armed to the teeth and when Alli- 
son defied all of the Authorities, both city and county, and Bat 
being an officer, followed him around with his big buffalo rifle 
on cock, had he have even raised the gun, these twenty six boys 
would have annihilated the town and all of the officers therein. 
And when McNulta, a big cow man, finally put Allison to bed, 
Masterson and his gang were somewhat relieved, and loosened 
up their belts somewhat. McNulta had a brother and while I 
was at Doan's Crossing on the Red River they brought his body 
to the store. He had just been killed by one of his cow boys. 
There it was they prepared the body for removal to Dodge City. 
It is just announced in the daily papers that Bat Masterson was 
found dead, seated at his desk as sport reporter on some big 
paper in New York City. It is said that he had started to 
write a book on the West and some of us are curious to know 
what amount of red fire Bat will put on himself at this fight, 
the account of which follows by Lewis. There was one place 
however, that Bat showed up fine and that was at the Adobe 
Walls Indian Battle in 1874, when he and Billie Dixon shot out 
of the same window for two days and when they and twenty- 
four others stood off eight hundred hostile Indians. See Billie 
Dixon's full account of this remarkable battle at a later chapter 
of this book. 

Quoting from Charley Seringo's book "A Lone Star Cow 
Boy" and describing one of his rides to Dodge City, "the tough- 
est town on earth", he mentions that the first man he met en 

22 



the streets was Cape Willingham, who was sheriff of Tascosa 
and killed the first cow boy in Tascosa. Cape told him of many 
depredations committed by the Indians south of Dodge. Rid- 
ing up the main street of Dodge he saw twenty-five mounted 
cow boys, holding rifles in their hands, facing one of the half 
dozen saloons, adjoining each other, on that side of the street. 
In passing this armed crowd one of them recognized Charley 
and calling him by name he said, "Fall in line quick, h — 1 is go- 
ing to pop in a few minutes." He jerked his Winchester riflle 
from the scabbard and fell in line, "like most fool cow boys 
would have done." In a monment Clay Allison, the man killer, 
came out of one of the saloons, holding a pistol in his hand. 
With him was Mr. McNulta, (I mentioned Mr. McNulta's 
brother being brought into the store at Doans Crossing on the 
Red River, the day I was there by his cow boys, after one of 
them had killed him) owner of the lar?e Pan Handle "Turkey 
Track" cattle outfit. Clay who was a little tight, remarked 

to the boys in line that none of the d cowards were in that 

saloon, referring to the officers. Then a search was made in 
the next saloon for some of the policemen or the City Marshal 
(Bat Masterson and his deputies) so as to wipe them off the 
face of the earth, he said. His twenty-five cow boy friends 
had promised to help him clean up Dodge City and make it be 
good. After all the saloons had been searched Mr. McNulta 
succeeded in getting Clay to bed at Bob Wright's Hotel. Soon 
after the city law officers began to crowd out of their hiding 
places, and appear on the streets again. This account of 
Charley's, who was a participant, differs considerably from Al- 
fred Henry Lewis' version and write up. It is really surmis- 
ed by many, that Bat Masterson was the real author of that 
story and that Lewis polished it up and gave it the vernacular 
coloring. Bat was really painting himself in the red. 

As we read Lewis' other stories, however, there is stirred 
in us the memories of those old scenes, and we feel the call to 
those wondrous, ever widening prairie lands and the weather- 
beaten breaks of the creeks and the rim rocked canyons and the 
wash of the water holes. The average man who has ever been 
there certainly feels the twangs of his heart strings, which are 
tuned like the plaintive harp to play that good old familiar song, 
"Somewhere A Voice Is Calling". 

OLD PAL. 

I wish that we could live the old days over, 

Just once more. 
I wish that we could hit the trail together, 

Just once more. 
Say, 01' Pal, the years are slipping by, 
With many a dream and many a sigh — ■ 
Let's chum together, you and I, 

Just once more. 

After a summary of how one Bennington Du Pont, just 
from the east, with a character not to the liking of any red 
blooded sport of those days, who from the beginning was nick 
named by Cimmarron Bill, "Ground Owl", because as he said, 
"the rattle snake don't kill 'em and no one knows wherefore," 

23 



Lewis, the author starts his story thus : 

"The Ground Owl's address was the Wright House. It 
was at this hostlery he received his earliest glimpse of Mr. Al- 
lison, and organized those insult-born differences. 

"Mr. Allison's country was Las Animas and the region 
round about. He had been over in the Panhandle, and was 
spurring homeward by way of Dodge. Having put his weary 
pony in the corral, he sought his own refreshment at the Wright 
House. 

"Mr. Allison was celebrated for force of character, and the 
democratic frankness of his sixshooters. His entrance into 
Las Animas' social circles had been managed with effect. That 
was seven years before, and Mr. Hixenbaugh told this of Mr. 
Allison's debut. 

"Which I was in the Sound Asleep Saloon," explained Mr. 
Hixenbaugh, "tryin' to fill a club flush, when the music of fire- 
arms floats over from across the street. I goes to the door on 
the lope, bein' curious as to who's hit, an thar on t'other side 
I observes a sport who's sufferin' from one of them deformities 
called a clubfoot, and who's got a gun in each hand. He's jest 
caught Bill Gatling in the knee, an' is bein' harassed at with 
six-shooters by Gene Watkins an' Len Woodruff,* who's whang- 
in' away at him from Crosby's door. I lands on the sidewalk in 
time to see him hive Gene With a bullet in the calf of his laig. 
Then Gene an' Bill an Len, the first two bein' redooced to chawl 
on hands an' knees by virchoo of them bullets, takes refooge in 
Crosby's, an' surveys this club-foot party a heap respectful 
from a winder. As I crosses over to extend congratyoolations, 
he w'rls on me. 

" 'Be you too a hostile?' he asks, domineerin' at me with 
his guns. 

" 'Hostile nothin'!' I replies; 'I'm simply comin' over in a 
sperit of admiration. What's the trouble?' 

" 'Stranger,' he says, 'that question is beyond me. I've 
only been in your town four minutes, an' yet thar seems to be a' 
kind o' prejewdyce ag'inst me in the minds of the ignorant 
few. But never mind,' he concloods; 'we're all cap'ble of mis- 
takes. My name's Clay Allison, an' these folks'll know me bet- 
ter by an' by. When they do know me, an' have arrived at a 
complete onderstandin' of my peeooliarities, they'l lwalk 'round 
me like I was a swamp.' " 

"Following this introduction, it would appear that Mr. Al- 
lison was taken into fellowship by Las Animas. The crippled 
foot and the consequent limp were lost sight of when he was 
iri the saddle. When he was afoot they went verbally un- 
noticed, since it was his habit to use a Winchester for a crutch. 

"After eight weeks in Las Animas, Mr. Allison felt as 
much at home as though he had founded the town. Also, he 
became nervously sensitive over the public well-being, and, 
mounted on a milk-white pony, which he called his "wah hoss," 
rode into open court, and urged that convention of justice, then 
sitting, to adjourn. Mr. Allison made the point that a too per- 

(Len Wocdruff was the Bar Tender in Jim East's saloon and was the 
real hero in the Big Gun fight at Tascosa in 1886, when he killed King, 
Chilton and Valley. The story of this battle at Tascosa follows in a 
later chapter.) 

24. 



sistent holding of court militated against a popular repose. In- 
asmuch as he accompanied his opinions with the crutch-Win- 
chester aforesaid, their soundness was conceded by the presid- 
ing judge. Tne judge, as he ordered an adjournment, said 
that in the face of what practical arguments were presented 
by Mr. Allison he was driven to regard the whole theory of 
courts as at best but academic. 

"Later, by two months, Mr. Allison was driven to slay the 
Las Animas marshal. In this adventure he again demonstrat- 
ed the accurate workings of his mind. The marshal, just be- 
fore he drifted into the infinite, had emptied the right barrel 
of a Greener 10-gauge into Mr. Allison's brother, John. A 
shotgun has two barrels, and the jury convoked in the premises, 
basing decision on that second barrel and arguing from all the 
circumstances that the late officer was gunning for the entire 
Allison family, gave a verdict of self-defence. 

"Mr. Allison was honorably acquitted, and the acquittal 
much encouraged his belief in justice. It showed him too the 
tolerant spirit of Las Animas, and he displayed his apprecia- 
tion thereof by engaging in that rugged Western pastime known 
as "Standing the Town on Its Head." Indeed, Mr. Allison 
made the bodily reversal of Las Animas a sacred duty to be 
performed twice a year; but since he invariably pitched upon 
Christmas and the Fourth of July for these pageantries, the 
public, so far from finding invidious fault, was inclined to join 
with him. In short, so much were Mr. Allison and Las Animas 
one in soul and sentiment, that the moment they had conquer- 
ed the complete acquaintance of each other they — to employ 
a metaphor of the farms — "fell together like a shock of oats." 
Mr. Allison was proud of Las Animas, while Las Animas looked 
upon Mr. Allison as the chief jewel in its crown. 

"On the breath of admiration some waif-word of the hardy 
deeds of Mr. Allison would now and again be wafted down the 
river to Dodge. Envious ones, who hated Dodge and resent- 
ed its high repute as "a camp that was never treed," had been 
even heard to prophesy that Mr. Allison would one day devote 
a leisure hour to subjecting Dodge to those processes of in- 
version which Las Animas had enjoyed, and leave its hitherto 
unconquered heels where its head should be. These insolent 
anticipations would wring the heart of Cimarron Bill. 

" 'You can hock spurs an' pony," he was wont to respond, 
' that if Clay ever shakes up Dodge, he'll shake it in the smoke.' 

" ' Mr. Masterson, when the threats of an Allison invasion 
were brought to his notice, would say nothing. He held it 
unbecoming his official character to resent a hypothesis, and 
base declarations of war on an assumption of what might be. 

" 'It's bad policy,' quoth Mr. Masterson, 'to ford a river 
before you reach it, It'll be time to settle what Dodge'll do 
with Clay, when Clay begins to do things to Dodge. He'll 
have to open a game, however, that no one's ever heard of, if 
Dodge don't get better than an even break." 

" 'Shore!' coincided Cimarron Bill, confidently. 'The idee, 
because Clay can bluff 'round among them Las Animas tarra- 
pins without gettin' called, that he can go dictatin' to Dodge, 
is eediotic. He'd be too dead to skin in about a minute! That's 
straight; he wouldn't- last as long as a drink of whiskey!' 

25 



"The Ground Owl was alone in the breakfast room of the 
Wright House when Mr. Allison limped in. All men have their 
delicate side, and it was Mr. Allison's to regard the open wear- 
ing of one's iron-mongery as bad form. Wherefore, he was 
accustomed to hide the Colt's pistols wherewith his hips were 
decked, beneath the tails of a clerical black coat. Inasmuch 
as he had left the Crutch-Winchester with his sombrero at the 
hatrack, even an alarmist like the Ground Owl could discover 
nothing appalling in his exterior. The halting gait and the 
black coat made for a harmless impression that went far to un- 
lock the derision of the Ground Owl. He treated himself to 
an evil grin as Mr. Allison limped to a seat opposite; but Mr. 
Allison didn't catch the malicious gleam of it, the grin got by 
unchallenged. 

"It was a breakfast custom of the Wright House to provide 
doughnuts as a fashion of a side-dish whereat a boarder might 
nibble while awaiting the baking-powder biscuit, 'salt hoss,' 
canned tomatoes, tinned potatoes, coffee, and condensed milk 
that made up the lawful breakfast of the caravansary. Las 
Animas being devoid of doughnut example of the Ground Owl, 
he tasted that delicacy. The doughnut as an edible proved 
kindly to the palate of Mr. Allison, and upon experiment he de- 
sired more. The dish had been drawn over to the elbow of the 
Ground Owl, and was out of his reach. Perceiving this, Mr. 
Allison pointed with appealing finger. 

" 'Pard,' said Mr. Allison, politely, 'please pass them fried 
holes.' 

" 'Fried holes!' cried the Ground Owl, going off into deri- 
sive laughter. 'Fried holes! Say! you limp in your talk 
like you do in your walk! Fried holes-' and the Ground Owl 
again burst into uninstructed mirth. 

"The Ground Owl's glee was frost-bitten in the bud. The 
frost that nipped it was induced by a Colt's pistol in the hand 
of Mr. Allison, the chilling muzzle not a foot from his scared 
face. The Ground Owl's veins ran ice; he choked and fell 
back in his helpless chair. Not less formidable than the Colt's 
pistol was the fury-twisted visage of Mr. Allison. 

"Even in his terror the Ground Owl recalled the word of 
Mr. Masterson. 

" 'Don't shoot,' he sqeaked. 'I'm unarmed!' 

"For one hideous moment Mr. Allison hesitated; it was in 
his mind to violate a precedent, and slaughter the gunless 
Ground Owl where he sat. But his instincts and his education 
made against it; he jammed his weapon back into its scabbard 
with the terse command : 

" ' Go heel yourse'f, you bull-snake! Dodge'll have you 
or me to plant!' 

"The Ground Owl groped his frightened way to the door. 
A moment later he was burrowing deep beneath a stack of al- 
falfa hay in Mr. Trask's corral, and it would have been neces- 
sary to set fire to the hay to find him. Mr. Allison sat glaring, 
awaiting the Ground Owl's return — which he never doubted. He 
no longer wanted breakfast, he wanted blood. 

"Dodge knew nothing of these ferocious doings — the insult, 
the flight of the Ground Owl, and the vicious waiting of Mr. 
Allison. The first news of it that reached Dodge was when 

26 



Mr. Allison — rifle in its saddle-scabbard, six-shooters at his 
belt — came whooping and spurring, the sublimation of warlike 
defiance, into the town's main thoroughfare. He had saddled 
that bronco within twenty feet of the Ground Owl, shivering 
beneath the hay. The explosive monologue with which he had 
accompanied the saddling, and wherein he promised a host of 
bloody experiences to the Ground Owl, rendered that recreant 
as cold as a key and as limp as a rag. 

"After a mad dash up and down the street, enlivened by 
divers war shouts, Mr. Allison pulled up in front of Mr. Web- 
ster's Alamo Saloon. Sitting in the saddle, he fiercely de- 
manded the Ground Owl at the hands of the public, and threat- 
ened Dodge with extinction in case he was denied. 

"Affairs stood thus when Jack turned Mr. Masterson out 
of his blankets. The soul of Jack was in arms. It would have 
broken his boy's heart had Mr. Allison flung forth his challenge 
in the open causeways of Dodge and departed, unaccommodat- 
ed, unrebuked, to cheer Las Animas with a recount of his 
prowess. 

" 'That's business!' exulted Jack, 'as the double cluck-' of 
Mr. Masterson's buffalo gun broke charmingly upon his ear. 
'Send daylight plumb through him! Don't let him go back to 
Las Animas with a yarn about how Dodge laid down to him!' 

"It was the first impression of Mr. Masterson that Mr. Al- 
lison's purpose was to merely feed his self-love by a general 
defiance of Dodge. He would ride and shout and shoot and 
disport himself unlawfully. In this he would demonstrate the 
prostrate sort of the Dodgeian nerve. 

"Mr. Masterson was clear that this contumely must be 
checked. It would never do to let word drift into Texas that 
Dodge had wilted. Were that to occur, when the boys with 
the Autumn herds came in, never a mirror in town would sur- 
vive; the very air would sing and buzz with contemptuous bul- 
lets. Mr. Masterson, from his window, came carefully down 
on Mr. Allison with the buffalo gun ; he would reprove that 
fatuous egotist, whose conceit it was to fancy that he could 
stand up Dodge. 

'Mr. Masterson would have instantly shot Mr. Allison from 
the saddle, but was withstood by a detail. Mr. Allison's six- 
shooters were still in his belt; his Winchester was still in its 
scabbard beneath his leg. These innocuous conditions con- 
strained Mr. Masterson to pause; he must, according to the rule 
in such case made and provided, wait until a weapon was in the 
overt hand of Mr. Allison. 

"Mr. Masterson could make neither head nor tail of what 
Mr.. Allison was saying. For the most it was curse, and threat, 
coupled with pictures of what terrific punishments — to cure it 
of its pride — Mr. Allison would presently inflict upon Dodge. 
This being all, however, Mr. Masterson could do no more than 
wait — being at pains, meanwhile, to see the oratorical Mr. Al- 
lison through both sights of the buffalo gun. When Mr. Al- 
lison snatched a pistol from his belt, that would be Mr. Master- 
son's cue; he would then drill him for the good of Dodge and 
the instruction of Las Animas. 

"Having the business wholly in hand, it was next the 

27 



thought of Mr. Masterson to obviate interference. He turned 
to Jack: 

" 'Skip out, and tell Kell and Short and Cimarron not to 
run in on Clay. Tell 'em I've got him covered and to keep 
away. If they closed in on him, they might blank my fire.' 

"When Jack was gone, Mr. Masterson again settled to his 
aim, picking out a spot under the right shoulder of Mr. Allison 
wherein to plant the bullet. 

" 'It's where I'd plug a buffalo bull,' ruminated Mr. Master- 
son, 'and it ought to do for Clay.' 

"Mr. Allison maintained his verbal flow unchecked. He 
had elocutionary gifts, had Mr. Allison, and flaunted them. 
Mingling scorn with reproach, and casting defiance over all, he 
spake in unmeasured terms of Dodge and it inhabitants. But 
never once did he laj hand to gun; it was solely an exhibition 
of rhetoric. 

"Mr. Masterson waxed weary. There were spaces when 
the mills of Mr. Allison's vituperation ran low; at such inter- 
vals Mr. Masterson would take the buffalo gun from his shoul- 
der. Anon, Mr. Allison's choler would mount, his threats and 
maledictious against all things Dodgeian would soar. There- 
upon, hope would relight its taper in the eye of Mr. Masterson; 
he would again cover Mr. Allison with his buffalo gun. Mr. 
Allison's energy would again dwindle, and the light of hope 
again sink low in the Masterson eye. The buffalo gun would 
be given another recess First and last, by the later word of 
Mr. Masterson, Mr. Allison was covered and uncovered twenty 
times. It was exceedingly fatiguing to Mr. Masterson, who 
was losing respect for Mr. Allison, as one all talk and no shoot. 

"While Mr. Allison vituperated, his glance roved up and 
down the street. 

" 'What's the matter with him!' considered Mr. Masterson 
disgustedly. 'Why doesn't he throw himself loose!' 

"Mr. Masterson's disgust became amazement when Mr. 
Allison turned in his saddle, and asked in tones wherein was 
more of complaint than challenge: 

" 'Where's Bat Masterson? He's on the squar-' He 
won't let no cheap store clerk put it all over me, an' get away! 
Where's Bat?' 

"As though seeking reply, Mr. Allison in a most pacific 
manner got down from the saddle, and limped away out of 
range into Mr. Webster's Alamo. 

"Mr. Masterson pitched the buffalo gun into a corner, put 
on his more personal artillery, and repaired to the Alamo with 
the thought of investigating the phenomenon. In the Alamo 
he found Mr. Allison asking Mr. Webster — who looked a bit 
pale — to send for Mr. Masterson. 

" 'Have somebody round Bat up," said Mr. Allison, peevish- 
ly. 'Which I want a talk with him about my injuries.' 

" 'What's wrong, Clay?' asked Mr. Masterson — outwardly 
careless, inwardly as alert as a bobcat. 'What's gone wrong?' 

" 'Is that you, Bat?' demanded Mr. Allison, facing around 
on his lame foot. 'Wherever have you been for the last half 
hour? I've hunted you all over camp.' 

" 'Where have I been for a half hour? I've been seesawing 
on you with a Sharp's for the better part of it.' 

28 



" 'Is that so!' exclaimed Mr. Allison, while his face lighted 
up with a kind of pleased conviction. 'Thar, d'ye see now! 
While I was in that saddle I could feel I was covered every 
moment. It was the sperits tellin' me! They kept warnin' me 
that if I batted an eye or wagged an ear I was a goner. It was 
shore one of them prov'dential hunches which is told of by 
gospel sharps in pra'r-meetin's.' 

"Mr. Masterson'^ indignation was extreme when he had 
heard the story of Mr. Allison's ill usage. And at that, his 
anger rested upon the wrongs of Dodge rather than upon those 
of Mr. Allison. 

" 'One may now see,' said Mr. Masterson, 'the hole into 
which good people can be put by a cowardly outcast of the 
Ground Owl tpye. That disgusting Ground Owl might have 
been the means of killing a dozen men. Here he turns in an' 
stirs Clay up; and then, when he's got him keyed to concert 
pitch, he sneaks away and hides, and leaves us with Clay on our 
hands!' 

"Cimarron Bill came into the Alamo; his brow turned dark 
with the scandal of those friendly relations between Mr. Mas- 
terson and Mr. Allison, which he saw and did not understand. 
Drawing aside, he stood moodily at the end of the bar, keeping 
a midnight eye the while on Mr. Allison, thirsting for an out- 
break. 

"Mr. Masterson approached him craftily — being diplomatic 
and having a mind to preserve the peace. 

" 'There's something I want you to do, Cimarron,' said Mr. 
Masterson, easily. The other brightened. 'No, not that-' con- 
tinued Mr. Masterson, intercepting a savage look which Cimar- 
ron bestowed upon Mr. Allison, 'not Clay.' 

" 'Who then?' demanded Cimarron, greatly disappointed. 
" 'The other one,' responded Mr. Masterson, 'Still I don't want 
you to overplay. You must use judgment, and while careful 
not to do too little, be equally careful not to do too much. This 
is the proposition: You are to go romancing 'round until you 
locate that miscreant Ground Owl. Once located, you are to 
softly, yet sufficiently, bend a gun over his head.' 

" 'Leave the Ground Owl to me,' said Cimarron Bill, his 
buoyant nature begiuning to collect itself. As he went forth 
upon his mission, he tossed this assurance over his shoulder: 
'You gents'll hear a dog howl poco tempo, an' when you do you 
can gamble me an' that Ground Owl clerk has crossed up with 
one another.' 

" 'That,' observed Mr. Short, who arrived in time to hear 
the commission give Cimarron Bill, 'that's what I call getti' 
action both ways from the jack. You split out Cimarron from 
Clay here; an' at the same time arrange to stampede that mal- 
ignant Ground Owl out o' camp. Which I always allowed you 
had a head for business, Bat.' 

"Cimarron Bill was wrong. He did not cut the trail of 
the vermin Ground Owl — lying close beneath the alfalfa of Mr. 
Trask! Neither did any dog howl that day. But Dodge was 
victorious without. It was rid of the offensive Ground Owl; 
when the sun went down that craven one crept forth, and fled 
by cloak of night. 

" 'Which it goes to show,' explained Cimarron Bill, judg- 

29 



matically, when a week later he was recovered from the gloom 
into which Mr. Allison's escape had plunged him, ' which it 
goes to show that every cloud has a silver linin' Clay saves 
himse'f ; but that Ground Owl has to go. It's a stand-off. We 
lose on Clay; but we shore win on that Ground Owl man.' " 

Either before or after this happening Charley Shideler and 
myself, had an experience in Dodge City which calls to my mind 
a character, but one who made good, similar to the Ground Owl 
as he is described. One early spring when we were East, there 
lived in Attica, Indiana, a young fellow by the name of Otis 
Green. He was well named as he was certainly some green. 
He was ambitious, however, and wanted to learn the cattle trade 
and insisted on going west with us. We discouraged him and 
told him that prairie dogs as big as calves would eat him up, 
besides we ourselves were regular hard boiled, well seasoned 
cow men and we had no use for a boy who was of that particular 
green hue. The day of departure came and Otis was at the 
train with his Tittle Smith and Weston revolver and high top 
boots. We could net shake him. We all landed in Dodge at 
Bob Wright's Hotel. We were waiting for a way to get down 
to the Palo Duro, one hundred and sixty-five miles due south. 
While in town we found out that Otis was not afraid and had 
no yellow streak like the Ground Owl, but at the same time we 
felt that he would not look well in a cow camp, where we were 
going, so on the morning of our departure, we "causually like" 
slipped out of town nnd left Otis to the tender mercies of the 
town limits of this wicked cow town. The moral to this story, 
and the shame that came to us, was the successful career of 
this green lad, who after all had the stuff in him. He wanted 
work and hired to some big outfit in Clay Allison's country and 
in the spring round up Clay Allison was elected captain of the 
round-up, and Otis was detailed by Allison as horse wrangler 
for the entire round-up. He made good and afterwards did 
better than being a horse wrangler, and after getting his nerve 
in tune, his father, Dr. Green, moved to Florida. Otis's ambi- 
tion was unquenched. He resolved to be a lawyer and he made 
a good one too. His goal was reached when he was elected 
Attorney General of his adopted state, Florida. 

After considerable research for the facts and localities 
connected with Allison's numerous reported killings we are led 
to believe that his supposed record of twelve killings is some- 
what exaggerated, and we now think, and can testify that he 
may have had as many as twelve or more fights, but it is quite 
doubtful if he killed a man every time he had a fight. 

Men who are now living and who knew Allison well, re- 
late, and their testimony shows that. Allison was always well 
thought of, and was a man of considerable influence for the 
good things. Among such men is Levy Shick, now of Plain- 
view, Texas, who says, "Allison was a fine man when sober, and 
a very intelligent man." He liked him very much and had no 
fear of him, but says, "Allison was by far the most fearless man 
on the plains and in that part of the country at any time in its 
history, barring none." 

I have been fortunate in having a writing acquaintance, 
who sent an inquiry about my writing the history of Clay Alli- 
son, and he has proved so interesting, since he is a man of wide 

30 



experience and much travel in nearly all of the wildest parts 
of the west, and also has a very entertaining pen, that it is a 
pleasure to print one of the best stories which he furnishes of 
Clay Allison, that I have been able to obtain. Although it 
shows Clay in this instance as a vengeful man, a trait that I 
did not think he had; however, I suppose, after the beating he 
got, he felt so ashamed that he had to have revenge. He tells 
it in a splendid way and I think got the story from an old judge 
of the court, who used to hold court in Colfax county, New Mex- 
ico, in an early day and who knew Clay Allison well. He says, 
"An incident in Clay Allison's life, and there must be some 
truth in it, for I heard of it on more than one occasion. I even 
read it once, and that was, that three men beat him up unmerci- 
fully one time, laid him out and put him Co bed, and that when 
he recovered, he started out to find them and followed them for 
months, trailed two of them into Montana and killed them in 
Musselshell or Judith Basin Country. It seems to me that he 
found one of them in Lewiston, which is in the Musselshell 
country. The two men he was hunting were not together at 
the time but were killed separately in the vicinity I speak of. 
If the beating up didn't take place in Trimidad, and I don't 
think it did, then it happened in Durango. Allison was cer- 
tainly in and around Durango, and he was also in Rico, on 
the Dolores River, the wildest camp in Colorado. He ran, or 
was with, Ike Stockton for a while in that part of Colorado, 
Stockton was hanged in Durango, lynched I believe." 

Mr. McCarthy, the gentleman spoken of before, has rec- 
ently interviewed Ex-Sheriff Bill Hale, of Lipscomb County, 
Texas, who is an old Texas man, and a man who lived next door 
neighbor to Clay Allison's sister, and her husband for several 
years, in Texas. Hale stated that Allison's sister's married 
name was Haggert, and that she is now living in Missouri. 
Clay Allison visited a good deal with his brother, John, who 
had a ranch once on the Washita, a few miles below where 
Billy Dixon had the Buffalo Wallow fight. They all lived to- 
gether one time, also, a few miles south of Higgins, Texas, in 
Hemphill County. (The reader will recall that in the fight, 
in the Dance House, at Las Animas, when the Allison's killed 
Charley Faber, the Marshal, who had said that he would kill 
Allison on sight, John was shot in the arm by Faber, but not 
killed. Jim East, :n a comparison of Clay and John makes 
the statement of the fact that he considered John the cooler 
and of better judgment in a gun fight than Clay, and in addi- 
tion was a stayer.) 

Hale adds, that Clay Allison was about thirty-five years 
old in 1886, and might have weighed from 180 to 190 pounds. 
Was broad shouldered, round, full face, large prominent fea- 
tures, heavy black hair and mustache, six foot two, or there- 
abouts, and very active and quick in his movements, an Apollo. 
This description is from a man who knew him, dealt with, and 
bought hogs from him when the family lived below Higgins, 
but who knew little pertaining to his boisterous early history. 
(The above correct description of Allison and his appearance 
and peculiar movements, are very accurate and tally with our 
impressions of the man as we knew him and as we remember 
his many characteristics. 

31 



Clay Allison was born in Tennessee and commenced his 
early ranching in southern Colorado, near Animas. Soon he 
moved to the Washita and married there. It seems strange 
and almost unreasonable to know that a man of the disposition 
and type of Clay Allison, and knowing of the many chances he 
had of being killed in, what you might say, a fairly decent way, 
should at last, and in his prime, succomb and come to the in- 
significant manner of his death that is vouched for by W. W. 
Owen who was one of his early partners in the cattle business, 
and has the facts at hand. The circumstances connected with 
his taking off was as follows : — Mr. Owens states that when 
Allison left his section he went to New Mexico, but what point 
he was not certain. He says that Allison wrote him frequent- 
ly up to the time he was killed, and the way he came about be- 
ing killed was ; Allison became angry at a cow boy of his who, 
for some reason or another, had done something which he did 
not approve of, so be got his gun and started for the place 
where the cow boy was. On the road Allison stopped at the 
home of an old freighter friend and was pretty typsey. The 
freighter soon learned what Allison was up to, so he persuaded 
him to stop and eat dinner with him, thinking that he could in 
the meantime divert his mind from committing the homicide. 
The freighter's wagon was loaded and with the teams hitched 
on, and Allison soon became possessed of the idea that he must 
show the freighter that he, Allison, was the best driver of a 
freighter that ever cracked a whip over the horses. So he 
climbed up on the wagon, gathered the lines, gave a yip and 
yell or two, and started in to show how to do some fancy driv- 
ing. The team of course answered the yip, and the wagon 
struck a chuck hole and Allison fell off the tetering seat. He 
fell between the wheels of the wagon, and the rear wheel of the 
heavily loaded wagon ran over his back, breaking his back, and 
of. course killing him. 

The span of forty years has passed since we met Clay Al- 
lison, and since his unromantic death. After that time Dodge 
City, Caldwell, Tascosa, Mobettie, and other border towns, have 
washed the war paint off, the buffalo hunter has hung his big 
"Sharpe" on the pegs in the wall, the Indian and his squaw are 
fairly content on the reservation and the Cow Man has hid his 
45. Now has come the railroad, the trolley, the automobile 
and nearly all of the early denizens, who are now living, are not 
at all averse to hitting the old Sante Fe, Jones, Plummer and 
Chisholm trails in the newer and faster ways. The Red Skin, 
particularly, now looks disdainfully on the lowly cayuse as he 
enjoys his oil wealth in his Packard, and with his Piano Player 
and his Victrola — what an evolution. 

Some desultory and off hand stories have been told and 
published touching on the early life of such old Cow Towns, as 
I have mentioned above, also, on some of the characters there- 
in, but I have never been able to find any books written by any 
one who had "been there" during their most boisterious days. 
I am told that Bob Wright who was in Dodge, and was a part of 
its early history, has published his book and I am now endeav- 
oring to locate one. Mr. E. M. Dearley of the Dallas News, a 
very forceful writer and a reporter who has a digging nose, has 
published some articles on those lines and has recently put out 

32 



a good description of the early days and present condition, de- 
scribing the rise and fall of Tascosa and has promised to write 
up other towns, and with his permission I take the liberty of 
reprinting his story, from the fact that we knew the place and 
some of the high flyers in this Cosmopoliton Cow town, on the 
banks of the Canadian River the belligerent Tascosa. 

One of the biggest Gun Fights ever pulled off in the West 
was at this same Tascosa, which we have referred to as being 
one of the wild border towns, and it is fitting to analyze the 
prime cause of some of these battles. It's most probable that 
women were the cause of most of them. 

In the following article it will show that Lem Woodruff, 
the real hero, of the battle was at the outs with some woman, 
and she immediately took up with King, and urged King to get 
even with Woodruff by killing him. It is necessary at this 
time to cite the fact that of all the Gun Fights that Clay Alli- 
son was engaged in, it is not recorded that a single one of these 
battles were brought about by the presence, or at the instiga- 
tion of women, and I feel safe in saying that while Allison was 
in appearance a very handsome man, in fact an Appolo, yet he 
did not appear to ever have been entangled in any Gun Fight 
over women. 

A BIG GUN FIGHT 

By Edward M. Dealey. 

"In the golden days of the cattle industry, when fences were 
unknown and grass was free, the Panhandle cowboys on a tear 
used to mount the bar in old Tascosa, Texas, and sing out: 

" T'm a wolf and this is my night to howl. I've got two rows 
of teeth — one for ransacking graveyards and one for devouring 
human beings.' 

"And they howled. For Tascosa in those days was the livest 
town in the Panhandle — a wide-open, red-hot coal of vitality, 
whose saloons, gambling palaces and dance halls never closed, 
day or night, except for funerals. 

"It was an oasis in a dreary waste. For miles and miles 
around the cattle ranges stretched away in grassy monotony, 
and under the broiling sun a man could ride all day without 
meeting another human being. 

"But in Tascosa itself all was different. Here was the 
Western cow-town de luxe. Scores of sleek horses stood tied 
day and night to the rails at the side of the main street. Bronz- 
ed cowpunchers with jingling spurs and broad-brimmed hats 
swung sturdily along on high-heeled boots. From the brilli- 
antJy-lighted saloons, lurid squares of light ascended to the 
skies through doors that were seldom closed. Women laugh- 
ed to the accompaniment of the rattle of dice on mahogany bars. 
From Hogtown way, the strains of lively music floated in the 
iir, Poker chips clinked and men swore loudly. Now and then, 
with a rush of hoofs, a little knot of cowpunchers swung down 
the main street in close and swiftly-moving formation — bound 
for the open prairie and the long ride back to headquarters, 
Occasionally a pistol shot rang out — the trigger pulled now in 
a mere spirit of fun and hilarity, now with more sinister intent. 

"Dangerous days, but pleasant ones. An uncertain at- 

33 



mosphere where sudden death might be met just around the 
corner, but one in which the very elixir of life floated. The 
men of Tascosa were of the West— men cradled in violence who 
lived and died violently. None came here who was not pre- 
pared to accept it as it was. The calmness and peace of the 
older civilization, with its less poignant joys and sorrows, was 
purposely forsaken by these young and virile men of the fron- 
tier in order that whatever life held for them might be quaffed 
to the dregs in one swift drink — and forgotten. 

"Such was Tascosa in the late '70s and early '80s and such 
was the spirit of its inhabitants. 

"And today, what? Is Tascosa a sleepy little village that, 
with the passage of time, has become tamed? Do the same 
men that once made these streets resound with their good-na- 
tured ribaldry and their wholesome laughter still hang on to 
life in the old town — sober, sedate and dignified citizens? 

"The answer is no. For Tascosa there was no such peace- 
ful old age. True to the spirit of the times which gave her 
birth, she lived her life and died before the glory of those color- 
ful days had quite departed. 

"Today Tascosa is no more. The solid double lines of 
adobe saloons and stores have given way before the ravages 
of the wind and the rain. Only with difficulty can one trace 
through the tangled grass and underbrush the line of what was 
once the main street. In its palmy days a town of several 
hundred people, it is now deserted except for one old woman 
and her dog. Desolution reigns supreme. The birds of the 
air and the little rodents of the field now hold undisputed sway 
over what was once the second city of the Panhandle. 

"After all, perhaps, it is fitting that it is so — fitting that 
Tascosa should pass into the discard along with the old-time 
cowboy and the longhorn steer — fitting that this old town which 
buried so many of the boys with their boots on should itself 
finally be 'bumped off' with its own boots on. 

"Tascosa's story has been hinted at here and there, but the 
tale as a whole has never been told. And yet it most richly 
deserves to be. At Tascosa, in the late 70's and early 80's the 
'wild and wooly' West lived in epitome. At Tascosa it is that 
the famous Boot Hill Cemetery stands — the hill upon which are 
buried the bodies of some twenty-five or more men, all of whom 
'died with their boots on.' At Tascosa it was, in the free grass 
days, that the old trail drivers often stopped for a few hours' 
rest before making the long jump to Dodge City. Here it was, 
also, that the famous New Mexico bandit, Billy the Kid, some- 
times sojourned between killings. Here it was, too, that Pat 
Garrett, the man who 'got' Billy the Kid, frequently stopped. 
And here it was, on March 21, 1886, that one of the most bloody 
gun battles of early Panhandle days took place — a battle in 
which four men were killed and two wounded, a battle that, in 
the matter of a successful fight against overwhelming odds, de- 
serves to go down in frontier history as second only to the 
famous fight of 'Wild Bill' Hickok with the McCandlas gang — 
one man against ten — and to that of 'Buckshot' Roberts with 
the gang of Billy the Kid at Blazer's Mill, one man against 
thirteen. 

34 



The Big Fight at Tascosa. 

"There are several versions of this fight at Tascosa. Some 
say that it started in an argument about cattle. This report, 
however, probably owes its origin to the fact that three of the 
men killed were cowboys on the L. S. ranch. One knowing 
this, and not knowing the real bone of contention, would na- 
turally ascribe the cause of the hostil'ities to some kind of a 
mixup about cattle — as this, indeed, was a most fertile soil for 
the production of feuds and battles in those early days. How- 
ever, the real .:ause of the trouble, according to persons who 
were there at the time and who are yet living, was that which 
is responsible foi4 most of man's troubles, the same as that 
which started the original difficulty of mankind in the Garden 
of Eden — woman. 

"This is the tale of the fight. Len Woodruff, a Tascosa 
bartender and a former L X cowpuncher, had a sweetheart nam- 
ed Sally. Woodruff and Sally had a falling out, and the lady 
in the case began 'keeping company' with Ed King, an L S cow- 
puncher. Sally, still holding a grudge against her former lov- 
er, asked King to 'get' Woodruff for her. King, with the gal- 
lantry of the times, and perhaps also with a natural liking for 
a fight, proceeded to do his best to accommodate the lady. He 
made preparations to go gunning for Woodruff. 
Breeding Trouble. 

"A few nights previous to the fatal shooting — so the tale 
goes — Woodruff, in company with a lady friend and Captain 
Jinks, the owner of the 'Hogtown' dance hall, was sitting in- 
side a building fronting on the main street of the town. Hoof- 
beats and yelling were heard outside. Woodruff walked to the 
window and looked out. Ed King, accompanied by two of his 
fellow-cowpunchers, Frank Valley and Fred Chilton, was rid- 
ing past the house. King, who was pretty well 'tanked up.' 
was crying: 

" 'Where is that , pretty Ed?' 

" 'Pretty Ed' was a cognomen he had manufactured extem- 
poraneously for the purpose of humiliating Woodruff. Wood- 
ruff, of course, knew that the epithet was meant for him. He 
came back from his position at the window and, sitting 
down again, burst into tears. He said he knew that King and 
Valley and Chilton were going to kill him. 

" 'But I would rather be killed like a dog and buried here 
in Tascosa.' he said, determinedly, 'rather than to have anyone 

say that those s ran me out of town. D — d me if I 

leave!' 

The Fatal Night. 

"A few nights later, on March 21, 1886, to be exact, Wood- 
ruff, who was tending bar at Martin Dunn's saloon, closed up 
shop about midnight and went out by the back door. It was a 
clear, moonlit night. The stars were shining overhead, and all 
was deathly quiet except that, from across the street, where 
two or three saloons were still open, there floated the sound of 
music, the clink of glasses, the rattle of poker chips and the 
monotonous undertone of men's voices. 

"In his hip pocket Woodruff had a bottle of brandy which 
he was taking to 'Rocking Chair Emma,' a new sweetheart he 
had acquired in Hogtown, the underworld district of the town. 

35 



With Woodruff was a man named Charlie Emory. 

"Emory and Woodruff walked from the rear door of the 
saloon to the street. To do this it was necessary for them to 
walk through a narrow passageway formed by the walls of two 
buildings. Naturally, in this passageway it was very dark and 
anyone on the street would be hard put to distinguish a man's 
form in the gloom. Hence, as Woodruff and Emory stepped 
onto the sidewalk of the street, they, to the surprise of all, came 
face to face with Ed King and a cowboy by the name of John 
Lang. Lang was a friend of King's. 

King Is Killed. 

"No one knows to this day what words pased between these 
four men at this unexpetced meeting, or whether any words 
were passed at all. All that is known is that the shooting 
started right there. All four men were armed with six- 
shooters and all used them. When the smoke cleared away 
Ed King was lying on his face in the street, dead. Woodruff 
was shot through the groin and Emory was wounded in several 
places. 

"John Lang, King's companion, the only man not hit in 
the shooting, took to his heels and ran into Jim East's saloon, 
where Frank Valley and Fred Chilton were playing poker. He 
rushed over to the card table and informed these men that Len 
Woodruff and his gang had killed Ed King and that Charlie 
Emory was shot to pieces. 

"Meanwhile Woodruff had retreated to his sleeping-room, 
a little adobe square just at the rear of Dunn's saloon, while 
Emmory had managed to drag himself into the shelter of a 
near-by blacksmith shop. 

King's Companions Seek Revenge 

"Valley and Chilton, upon being informed by Lang of what 
had taken place, jumped from their chairs, and running to the 
bar, demanded their sixshooters from Button Griffith, the bar- 
tender. In accordance with the standing order of Sheriff Jim 
East,* they had turned in their guns at the bar when they en- 
tered the saloon. This was a necssary precaution in those days. 

"Button Griffith, of course must have sensed that there 
was trouble in the air, and could perhaps have avoided further 
bloodshed had he refused to give these men their guns. Or 
perhaps by refusing he might have caused the letting of even 

* Jim East could be a good sheriff and a square saloon keeper at the 
same time. I have recently received some letters from him, which of 
course touch on the historic times in and around Tascosa and other powder 
smoked cow towns. He cites the fact of our being on the Palo Duro 
while he was officiating as sheriff and trying to keep the lid on and at the 
same time loosening up enough so the boys could kill some cheap gambler 
occasionally. He tells me he remembers our outfit, known as the old 
Newell ranch, and says he knew well Berrv, the man whom we sold our 
cattle to, and who used this brand, 777. Henry Boice was his foreman. 
Jim says that Boice became a prosperous Commission Man in Kansas City, 
although we had heard that he was killed in the stock yards at Fort 
Worth by a Cow Puncher, who Henry had rebuked for abusing his horse. 
East refers to a noted character around Dodge who was called "Croppy". 
He had lost an ear and that fact caused the nick name. He is prosperous 
and active yet. During Roosevelt's administration he was appointed U. S. 
Marshall of some District in the West. Jim is now living at Douglas, 
Ariz., and is a prominent and influential citizen, enjoying a life of ease 
and comfort and awaits the long call to night herd. 

36 



more blood, including his own. Whatever his mental reflec- 
tions might have been on this occasion, at any rate, he did not 
demur, but promptly handed Chilton and Valley their guns. 

"Immediately the two men ran out and cut diagonally a- 
cross the street, passing along the side of Dunn's saloon and 
making toward Woodruff's sleeping quarters. 
Sheets Killed by Mistake. 

"Meantime, a man by the name of Jesse Sheets, who con- 
ducted a little restaurant adjoining Dunn's saloon, heard the 
early shooting and pulling on his pants and shoes, had stepped 
out at the rear of his place of business to see what the rumpus 
was all about. As Valley and Chilton rounded the rear end 

of Dunn's saloon they "spotted" Sheets standing there in the 
dark. They took him to be Louis Bozeman, supposedly one of 
Woodruff's gang. Valley, therefore, at once stopped short, 
and, resting the gun along the rear wall of Dunn's saloon, fired. 
The bullet struck Sheets right between the eyes, killing him in- 
stantly Valley cried to Chilton: 

" T got one of them-' 

"He then ran forward to join his partner, who was by this 
time nearing Woodruff's door. 

"Woodriff, taking advantage of the few moments of re- 
spite that had elapsed since the ki.lling of King, had barricaded 
himself inside his room. He had with him his sixshooter and 
a 45-70 Winchester rifle. 

"Chilton and Valley, without hesitation ran up to the door 
of the little adobe building that served Woodruff as a house, 
and in rapid succession fired five times through the soft pine of 
the door. 

"Woodruff realized at once that if he remained in the dark- 
ness of his room he would be killed like a rat in a trap. The 
bullets plowed through the door as easily as if it had been made 
of butter, and the sod walls of the house leaked like a sieve. 
He made a desperate resolve. Limping to the door, he threw 
it open. 

"Within a few feet of him stood Valley and Chilton, guns 
in hand. Before they oculd recover from the surprise occa- 
sioned by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Woodruff, 
the latter fired point blank at Frank Valley. Velley fell in a 
heap with a bullet in the face. Chilton retreated, firing as he 
went. His objective was an old water well about fifteen yards 
distance from the house. Before he could get behind this 
cover, however, Woodruff drilled him through and through with 
his Winchester. 

Woodruff Escapes. 

"Not knowing how many more of King's friends might be 
after him, Woodruff then thought it best to try to escape from 
Tascosa. He was weak from loss of blood and suffering great 
pain from the wound in his groin. Using his rifle as a crutch 
he dragged himself down toward the creek and across. He 
then slowly made his way toward a ranch house in the distance. 
He still had the bottle of brandy in his pocket, and it now stood 
him in good stead. He was not ordinarily a drinking man — 
bartenders seldom are — but during the hours that followed, he 
kept up his strength by occasional sips of the fiery liquid. Af- 
ter several hours of painful crawling through the grass, he 

37 



managed to reach the ranch house of Theodore Briggs. This 
was about a mile and a half from Tascosa. Here he remained 
until morning. Briggs cared for him. Shortly after dawn, 
however, Briggs went to Tascosa and reported to Sheriff Jim 
East that Woodruff was present in his house. East thereupon 
came over and, placing Woodruff under arrest, brought him 
back to Tascosa. 

"Woodruff was tried some time later at Mabeetie, and final- 
ly came off clear. He lived for some vears afterward. 
Buried on 'Boot Hill.' 

"Ed King, Frank Valley, Fred Chilton and Jesse Sheets 
are all buried on Boot Hill. In the cemetery on Boot 

Hill may be seen the graves of the first three. Their 

graves are those marked with the limestone slabs, the only 
three stones of this character on the hill. These stones were 
no doubt put up by the L. S. ranch, for which the three cowboys 
worked. Jesse Sheets, the fourth victim of the tragedy, being 
only a proverty-stricken eating-house proprietor, whose family 
was not able to afford such a memorial, lies beneath the sod 
with only a wooden post to mark his last resting place. 

"This is, as near as can be ascertained, the real history of 
this gun fight. There are some old inhabitants of Tascosa who 
claim that Valley and Chilton were not killed by Woodruff at 
all, but were shot by the Catfish Kid and Louis Bozeman, who 
were concealed in a woodpile near Woodruff's house. How- 
ever, this story is hardly plausible, as. if this were the case, the 
five bullet-holes through Woodruff's door could not be explain- 
ed. And those bullet-holes were actually there, and remained 
there until the house fell in. 

"At any rate, however, there was sufficient suspicion di- 
rected against the Cftfish Kid and Bozeman at the time to cause 
their arrest and imprisonment. They were later tried and ac- 
quitted. 

'Hell About to Pop.' 

"A. L. (Bud) Turner, who lived at Tascosa at the time of 
this shooting, and who now lives in the same house as that 
formerly occupied by Theodore Briggs (to which Woodruff 
crawled for refuge) says that on the night of the fight,*he and 
Tobe Robison (later Sheriff) were at an' L. S. camp on Rita 
Blanco. He states that he and Robison received orders to ride 
north and cut off the escape of Woodruff, Bozeman and the Cat- 
fish Kid. They rode as far north as the point where the city 
of Dalhart now stands, and then turned south toward Tascosa, 
arriving there about three o'clock the next afternoon. 

"Mr. Turner says that at the time of his arrival the whole 
town was in a great state of tension. Cowboys from adjoin- 
ing ranches had ridden in from all directions. On March 22, 
during the afternoon, he thinks that there were at least 400 or 
500 men on the streets of Tascosa, all armed and all siding with 
one faction or the other. For a while it looked as if a regular 
war would break out, but, thanks to the strategy and cool nerve 
of Sheriff East, his Deputy, L. C. Pierce, and other leaders, 
further trouble was averted. 

Ed King's Past. 

"Ed King, the first man to be killed in this fight, had one 
notch on his gun, which means that, in his time he had killed 

38 



one man. Strictly speaking, he was not a 'bad man,' as the 
term in those days was generally understood. He was a hard- 
working cowboy, earning an honest living. But when 'tank- 
ed up' he was rather easy on the draw, as is illustrated by the 
following story told by Sam Dunn, now of Amarillo, but former- 
ly a cowpuncher on the Frying Pan ranch near Tascosa. 

"King according to Mr. Dunn, was the only man who ever 
'threw a gun' on him. 'When this incident occurred,' says Mr. 
Dunn, 'King was standing at the bar of Captain Jink's saloon. 
He had a sixshooter that he called "old blue". He was lean- 
ing against the bar twirling the gun on his finger. As he 
rolled it, he would, at each revolution, cock it and let down the 
hammer. I was playing cards at some distance from the bar 
when I decided that I would like to have a drink of water. 
There was an old bucket with a rusty tin cup standing at the 
end of the bar beyond King. I walked over and dipped out a 
cup of water and started to drink. I had hardly taken a swal- 
low when I heard King speaking to me. 
" ' What the h do you want?' he said. 

"I did not stop drinking, but I did cut my eyes down and 
saw that King had his gun poked into my ribs. I finished 
drinking, keeping my eyes on the gun all the while. Then, as 
I reached down for another cup of water, I replied : 

" 'I just wanted to get a drink.' 

"I drank the second cup. King kept his gun jammed unto 
my ribs all thetime. When I finished, I turned around and 
walked back to the poker table, and resumed my game. That 
was all there was to it. 

"Mr. Dunn said that he supposes the reason why King 
threw his gun on him was because he did not like to have a 
stanger come so close to him. 

The 'Catfish Kid.' 

"Another 'bad actor', who has been said, is supposed by 
some to have been mixed up in this battle, was the 'Catfish Kid.' 
The 'Catfish Kid' was of the type most despicable in frontier 
days. He was an imitation bad man- — one who shot and kill- 
ed for no reason whatsoever save for the pleasure of killing, 
and who usually shot when the other man was unarmed or at a 
disadvantage. 

"Old Tascosaites say that at one time when the 'Catfish 
Kid' and Louis Bozeman were sleeping in a wagon yard at Tas- 
cosa, a poor, inoffensive German tramp came in and endeavored 
to take up his sleeping quarters in the same place. The Kid, 
who was a great bully, ordered the tramp to dance for him. 
The tramp either refused, or else did not dance to suit the Kid. 
At any rate, the Kid shot him dead in cold blood. For this 
murder he got sixteen years in the penitentiary. He died be- 
fore the expiration of his term. 

Tascosa's Inaccessibility. 

"Tascosa, in its flourishing days, was the only town be- 
tween Mobeetie, Texas, on the east, Springer, N. M., on the 
west, and Dodge City. Kan., on the north. Everything used in 
the town was freighted in wagons from Dodge City or Spring- 
er, the round trip requiring weeks and sometimes months. 
Whatever lumber was needed to build the town was brought in 
in this manner, as timber is a scarce article around Tascosa. 

39 




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A Deserted Village, 

"Tascosa, that lively little cowtown of the eighties, now 
boasts of a population of one old lady. But this old lady is as 
interesting as any 200 or 300 people would be in an ordinary 
town. She is Mrs. Mickie McCormack, and she has been living 
in Tascosa for forty years. She lived in the old town when it 
was the best town in the Panhandle — and the only one besides 
Mobeetie. She was present on the night of the big fight. She 
saw the funeral procession wending its way to Boot Hill the 
following afternoon. Today she still exists among the ruins, 
a bent and pathetic little figure. Her only companion is a dog. 

"Mrs. McCormack refused to allow her picture to be taken, 
and was very reluctant to talk about herself. She was willing, 
however, to talk of the fight and of the early days of the town. 
She was asked if it was not rather lonesome in Tascosa now. 
She looked off toward the river a few moments and reflected. 
Then, haltingly,she said: 

" 'Yes, it is. This used to be a real lively town, you know. 
But I don't like it much any more.' She sighed. 

"Inasmuch as she is the only person living among these 
ruins her remark about not liking it much any more contains 
quite a lot of unconscious humor. But the pathos of that re- 
ply is even greater. 

'Frenchy's History.' 

"Mrs. McCormack is known to all the old-timers as 
Frenchy. Quite a lot of romantic stories are told about her 
past, but those in a position to know the real truth character- 
ize these tales as "bunk." One story, for instance, is to the 
effect that she comes from a prominent and wealthy New Or- 
leans family; that she ran away from home and got married 
against her parents' wishes, and that now she refuses to give 
out any informaion about herself because she does not want 
her people to know where she is, preferring rather to die in old 
Tascosa, the scene of her youth and of her happier days. 

"This, of course, would make a nice story if it were true, 
but the more convincing evidence points the other way. Old 
inhabitants of Tascosa say that Frenchy was the wife of Mickie 
McCormack, a livery stable proprietor of Tascosa and 'as fine 
a little Irishman as ever drank a toddy.' Mickie McCormack 
died among the ruins of Tascosa a few years go after his wife 
had spent practically the entire family wealth taking him on 
trips designed to bring back his lost health. After his death, 
which occurred only three days after his return to old Tascosa, 
his wife continued to live there with her dog. She has never 
left since — and perhaps never will. 

How Tascosa Was Named. 

"The story of how Tascosa got its name is itself an inter- 
esting one. The original application to the Postoffice De- 
partment was for the name 'Atascosa,' which, in Spanish, means 
'muddy,' or 'boggy.' The low lands of the Canadian River are 
full of marshes and bogs, the river bed itself being very treach- 
erous with its quicksands and shifting holes, and it was for this 
reason that the namers of the town thought Atascosa would be 
suitable. But it happened that there was already an Atascosa 
County in Texas and an Atascosa River, so that the postoffice 
authorities refused to allow the new town in the Panhandle to 

41 



have this name. Hence the 'a' was struck off and the town 
named Tascosa. One well-known writer on Western subjects, 
Emerson Hough, in one of his books, several times makes the 
mistake of referring to this old town as 'Atascosa.' 
Fun in the Early Days. 

"Quite a few humorous little anecdotes of early days in 
Tascosa are told by oldtimers who once lived in the town. Here 
is one: 

"Before the courthouse was built the town authorities used 
to have some trouble in finding a place to lock up prisoners. At 
one time a certain worthless character drifted into town, and, 
after getting into all kinds of trouble, finally landed plump in 
the arms of the Sheriff. This latter gentleman was a man of 
resources. He chained his prisoner, for safekeeping, to a pil- 
lar supporting the cottonwood beam in the roof of one of the 
town's largest saloons. When the saloon was closed for the 
night a roaring lire was built in the grate, and the prisoner left 
to sleep on the floor at whatever spot he might choose within 
the radius of the length of his chain. 

"But if the Sheriff was a man of resource, the prisoner was 
more so. During the night he decided he would like to have a 
drink. His chain was too short to admit of his getting as far 
as the bar. Therefore he tore up one of his blankets, and, 
weaving himself a lariet, tried his hand at roping bottles of 
brandy that stood on the floor at the corner of the bar. After 
several unsuccessful attempts he managed to 'ring' a bottle 
neck and drag the liquor over to him. 

"This was encouraging, and when the first bottle gave out 
he persevered. When the 'cold, gray dawn' of the next morn- 
ing broke the proprietor of the saloon, coming into his place of 
business, found this redoubtable booze fighter peacefully un- 
conscious in the arms of Bacchus as an evidence of his prowess 
empty bottles lay about him in a complete circle. What the 
proprietor said or what the Sheriff did is not a part of the 
record. 

Jack Ryan and the Jury. 

"Another of the classics of old Tascosa centers around an 
old individual by the name of Jack Ryan. Ryan and Frank 

James (not the brother of the famous Jesse, but another man,) 
were the joint proprietors of a saloon in Tascosa in the 80's. 
Ryan was called from the duties of this business at one time 
to serve on a jury. When the jury went out to deliberate, 
eleven stood for acquittal and Ryan alone stood for conviction. 
He was obstinate. He insisted that the prisoner ought to have 
his neck stretched, and announced that he would see to it that 
this little operation was performed, or else he would force the 
jury to report itself as unable to agree. Ryan's fellow-jurors 
pleaded with him, argued with him and very nearly fought with 
him in an endeavor to win him over to their side of the fence. 
But Ryan refused to give in. 

"Just at this juncture, Frank James climbed a ladder, 
stuck his head into the window of the juryroom and nodded ex- 
citedly to Ryan to come over. Ryan came. James whispered 
to him that the biggest and best poker game ever seen in Tas- 
cosa was at that very time in progress in their saloon, and ask- 
ed Ryan for money. Ryan peeled three $100 bills off his roll, 

42 



and gave them to James. Then he said: 

" 'Hurry back! Don't let the game break up! Keep it go- 
ing until I get there!' 

"He then returned to the conference with his fellow-jurors 
and told them that, while he personally believed in the guilt of 
the prisoner, he was forced to admit that human judgment was 
fallible and that, inasmuch as all of them seemed to be firmly 
convinced that the accused ought to be set free, he was willing 
to waive his own convictions in the matter and acquiesce in 
their judgment. 

"A verdict of acquittal was at once returned and Ryan* 
hurried over to the poker game. 

"Jim East, Sheriff for four terms in Tascosa, has been men- 
tioned before in this story. Just in passing^ it will be of inter- 
est to remark that this same Jim East was one of the bunch that 
captured Billy the Kid and his gang at a little rock house near 
Stinking Spring. New Mexico, in 1881. East is the only sur- 
vivor of the group that made this capture. He lives at present 
in Douglas, Ariz., where he is a well-to-do and much respected 
citizen. 

Billy the Kid Visits Tascosa. 

"Billy the Kid, perhaps the most famous desperado of fron- 
tier days, was probably in Tascosa several times. One visit 
of his to the town is known of definitely. In the fall of 1878 
he came to Tascosa with his gang, consisting of Charlie Bowdre 
(later killed by Pat Garrett), Doc Skurlock, Tom O'Folliord or 
O'Phalliard (later killed by Pat Garrett), Henry Brown and 
others. This gang, just previous to their visit to Tascosa, had 
been engaged in a horsestealing expedition and had moved 
northeastward from New Mexico in disposing of their stolen 
property. They came to Tascosa and there got rid of the last 
of their stolen horses. They then spent a few days in the old 
town before returning to their stamping grounds in New Mex- 
ico. 

'During this stay in Tascosa Billy the Kid and his gang 
went from ranch to ranch, 'visiting' and occasionally taking a 
meal. At one time they stopped for a day or so on the ranch 
of a certain Captain Torey, a retired ship captain even then 
along in years. When Captain Torey heard of it he gave ord- 
ers to his foreman that Billy the Kid and his men were not to 
be fed any more at the ranch, as he did not want people to 
think that he was' in cahoots' with this gang of cutthroats and 
robbers. This news came to the ears of the Kid. 

"Forthwith he looked Captain Torey up. Meeting him one 
day in front of Jack Ryan's saloon on the main street of Tas- 
cosa, he asked him point-blank whether it was true or not that 
he had given his foreman these orders. Captain Torey said it 
was. Instantly the Kid drew his sixshooter and rammed it 
into the Captain's stomach, telling him that if he wanted to 
say any prayers he had better be quick about it, as he was go- 
ing to fill him full of lead. 

* Charley Shidler, when in Tascosa. used to room with Tom Monroe, 
who ran a wagon for the L. S. outfit, (The Bates & Beal Co.) This room 
was located just back of Ryan's saloon. 

43 



"Captain Torely,* believing that his life on this sphere was 
destined to end right then and there, broke down and said that 
he would take it all back. The Kid put up his gun. Later he 
told Charlie Siringo that he never did intend to shoot the Cap- 
tain, but was merely giving him a good scare to teach him a 
lesson. Siringo tells of this incident in his book, 'A Lone Star 
Cowboy.' 

Pat Garrett in Tascosa. 

"Pat Garrett, one of the most famous, if not the most fam- 
ous of all the peace officers of the Southwest, lived in and about 
Tascosa for about a year and a half, centering on the year 1884. 
Garrett was the man who killed Billy the Kid at Fort Summer 
on the Pecos in New Mexico. At the time of his death the Kid 
was just 21 years old and is said to have killed twenty-one men, 
one for each year of his life, and this was not counting Mexi- 
cans. Garrett in 1384 was in charge of a company of Texas 
Rangers operating in Wheeler County and made Tascosa his 
headquarters. C. B. ('Cape') Willingham, the first Sheriff of 
Oldham County, shot the first man ever killed on the streets of 
Tascosa. It happened in this wise: A group of drunken cow- 
punchers came riding into town from their camp, which was 
situated near by. As they galloped down the street they 
whooped and yelled and shot off their guns. One of the bunch, 
seeing a lady in her yard feeding a flock of ducks, took a shot 
at one of the birds. He drilled it dead center, all right, but 
at the same time frightened the lady to such an extent that she 
fainted. 

"The cowboys rode on down the street, drew up in front of 
Jack Ryan's saloon and entered. Willingham, armed with a 
shotgun went to arrest them. The Sheriff ordered him to get 
down from his horse and surrender. Instead of doing this, the 
cowboy* reached for his gun. Before he could get it into ac- 
tion Sheriff Willingham planted a load of buckshot in his body. 

"This was the first occupant of a plot on Boot Hill. He 
was a stranger in Tascosa, he and his companions being in 
charge of a herd of longhorn cattle that was being driven up 
the trail north. 

"After this, killings in Tascosa came with such frequency 
that today no one knows the exact count of men killed 'with 
their boots on." 

* Captain Torey, after he had established his ranch, sent back east to 
Boston, I think, for his family. His ranch was just above Tascosa, on 
the Canadian River. His family consisted of two daughters and his wife. 
On their trip from Dodge City, on the stage, a distance of One Hundred 
Seventy-five miles, to Tascosa, Charley Shidler made the trip with them. 
He was sitting on the front seat with the driver. When a few hours out 
of Dodge City, a bunch of antelope jumped out in front of the stage, as 
antelope always do. He took a shot at them as they passed, and killed 
one the first shot. He could see from the dust that his bullet hit about 
thirty feet from them, glancing and making the fatal shot. Of course 
the party thought this a wonderful shot and he heard the Captain say to 
them that this was not an uncommon thing for the Cow Boys to do. 

* Charley talked with the uncle of the boy. The uncle was in charge 
of the herd to which these Cow Boys belonged. He stated that the boy 
had never been away from home before and was of a peaceable disposition, 
but that he supposed the booze made him want to be a He-Man. 

44 



The Famous Boot Hill Cemetery. 

"A few words about Boot Hill. In the clays of Tascosa's 
prime, Dodge City, Kan., as has been said, was the nearest city 
of any consequence and the city to which the cowpunchers re- 
paired to buy whatever equipment they needed or to have a 
good time. Now at Dodge City there was very early a Boot 
Hill Cemetery in which, before the town was a good year old, 
more than eighty men had been buried. What was more na- 
tural than that Tascosa should attempt to emulate the exemple 
of Dodge City in the upbuilding of their own little metropolis? 
When Tascosa began to come into prominence as a wild and 
woolly cow town it was but the logical consequence that it 
should imitate the older Dodge City by establishing its own 
special Boot Hill. 

"The account of all these escapades and adventures, of 
course, sounds extremely wild and wooly. But it must be re- 
memebered that things were done in those times that today 
would be outlandish in the highest degree. In defense of these 
pioneers of the Panhandle frontier it must be said that the bet- 
ter class of the people got into the saddle and fashioned things 
to their own way of thinking just as soon as it was possible for 
them to do so. Prohibition was adopted in the Panhandle 
counties of this State long before it became law in other sec- 
tions of the State. Today the Panhandle yields the palm to 
no other district of Texas in the matter of law enforcement and 
order. 

"Tascosa was a Mexican settlement as far back as 
1870. Perhaps the first man to settle there permanently 
was Henry M. Kimball, a carpenter and buffalo hunter, 
and later, at Channing, Texas, a blacksmith and wheel- 
wright. Kimball first came to Tascosa on the fourth of July, 
1876. During this year he planted a garden at Tascosa and 
hunted buffalo in the vicinity. He also did carpenter work in 
his spare moments for a Mexican there named Casimira Rom- 
ero. In February, 1877, two men named Howard and Rinehart 
came to Tascosa from New Mexico and established a store there. 
They first rented a place from Romero, but later, in April, 1877, 
they built their own abode store. In 1878 the cattlemen of the 
region roundabout began to make Tascosa a kind of headquar- 
ters and from this time on its growth was rapid. In 1879 John 
Cone and a man named Duran opened another store in Tascosa 
and in the same year Rinehart, the former partner of Howard, 
opened a third store. This made three stores in 1880, and 
stores in those days meant a town. 

Town Dependent on Ranches. 

"Tascosa's growth and prosperity as before said, were al- 
most entirely dependent upon the near-by cattle ranches. In 
fact, it was the presence of these cowboys that is really to ac- 
count for Tascosa's existence as a white man's town rather 
than as a mere Mexican settlement. The old town never did 
have any business other than that of selling liquor and a few 
supplies to the cowpunchers living close at hand and those who 
came through on the trail. 

"In 1879 and in subsequent years Tascosa was untilized as 
a kind of assembling point of the various outfits about to take 
part in the great annual roundup. There were no fences in 

45 



those days and the cattle ranged all over the Panhandle and 
into New Mexico, Colorado and Kansas. Hence in the roundup 
outfits from these distant points came to Taseosa to help make 
the liquor flow and the town liven up. 

"Some of the ranches in the vicinity of Taseosa were the 
L. I. T., the L. S., the L. X. and other smaller ranches belong- 
ing to such old-time cowmen as Goodrich, Jim Kennedy and 
Nick Chaffin. Many of these ranches, of course, are today still 
in existence. 

"In the early days of Taseosa there were no organized 
counties in Texas north of the Red River. Oldham County was 
organized in 1889. 

Mingled Feelings. 

"There is something sad and at the same time something 
uncanny about a deserted town. Where once this noisy little 
cow village stood, today there are no sounds to be heard save 
those made by hundreds of little birds in the cottonwoods. 
Where formerly the mainstreet of the town stretched its lurid 
way, today only a dim ootline can be traced through the scrubbv 
underbrush. Once along this street there were ranged two 
lines of solidly built adobe stores. Now only a single broken 
wall raises its jagged and crumbling outlines from the grass. 
Along that street forty years ago five saloons operated at full 
blast day and night, stopping only for funerals. Today the 
town is a mourning witness of its own funeral. 

"Forty years ago many famous characters walked up and 
down the road that ran through this cottonwood grove. Today 
most of them are dead. A few old-timers are still left, but it 
has been along time since any of these has gazed on the site 
of old Taseosa, for the railroad runs south of the river and the 
old town can not be ?een from the windows. 

"At evening the wind stirs the dead leaves at the foot of 
the cottonwoods, the rays of the setting sun glance through the 
boughs, flecking the grass and creek water with light, shifting 
shadows, a few little birds cheep as they go to roost, and then 
a deathly silence throws its mantle over the scene. 

"One can stand here and know*: intellectually that this 
place was once one of the wildest and wooliest and noisiest of 
all the towns of the frontier, but even that definite knowledge 
can not bring back in all their old-time richness the atmosphere 
and coloring the vivid pictures of the old town as it used to be 
in the days of its glory. The contrast of today with yesterday 
is too great. 

It is a measure of some pride, pardon the boast, that we are 
the last, in this vicinity at least, now living, as we do, in a small 
industrious and thriving western Indiana town, who have had 
his little experiences and skirmishes with the Red Skins, who 
had his buffalo hunters friendships, who was acquainted with 
some of the bad men, and who was of the Cow Man type, on the 
broad plains of the Pan Handle, No Man's Land, and the old 
Indian Territory. Now we have 'lit', and will stand without 
hitching until such time as we hit that long trail from which 
no 'Cow Puncher' ever returns. 

We are indebted to the courtesey of several men, who are 
still living and who were acquaintances and in some instances 
companions and partners of Clay Allison in the wild days, for 

46 



a part of the facts and stories connected with Allison and his 
boisterous, dare-devil ways. It's been difficult to get at most 
of the history of this man for the reason, as one of the residents 
of what was Allison's old stamping grounds says, "There are 
many pertinent facts connected with the gathering of early day 
history. In the first place, if you can get an old timer to sit 
on the sunny side of a building on a comfortable day with an 
appreciative audience and a good cigar at your expense, you 
can get him to talk at considerable length about what a bull 
moose he was in the early days. But when you get him pinned 
down to lines you will probably discover that he is repeating 
second-hand stuff and it all happened in the next county. Again 
when you find a man who really knows, he will spin tales by 
the hours, not boastingly, but in a matter-of-fact, truthful way. 
This same man will not write three lines however, pertaining 
to such subjects." The consensus of opinion, as we get it from 
those who know and are now living, bears out a former state- 
ment that Clay Allison was the best known man in the real 
pioneer days in the Pan Handle country, especially in the neigh- 
borhood of that thriving town of Canadian, Texas. As one of 
his old time companions tells it, "He was a whale of a good fel- 
low, and considerate of his fellowmen, but throw a drink or two 
into him and he was a hell hound turned loose, rearin' for a 
chance to shoot — in self defense." We are indebted to Messers 
Bussell, Arrington, Owens and the editor of The Canadian 
Record, Mr. L. P. Loomis, all of Canadian, and also to Mr. Shick, 
of Amarillo, for the way they have "thawed out" and helped us 
in our feeble efforts to portray and describe the life of Clay Al- 
lison. 

Jim East, Charley Seringo, D. F. McCarthy and others 
have helped me also. While Clay Allison has left a trail of 
blood, no man can say that he had a murderous heart or a sull- 
en and sordid mind. He held the respect of the better cow 
men but was hated by the villaneous, murderous, cowardly 
gunman. 



47 











THE PICTURESQUE RIO GRANDE DEL NORTE. 

One of the many beautiful scenic pictures along the Rio 
Grande River, leading up towards the Wagon Wheel Gap — a 
magnificient, glorious and continuous piece of grand views. 
Near Wagon Wheel Gap, where the solid granite walls are split, 
in order to let the rushing Rio Grande River through, was 
where John C. Fremont lost his wagons, on one of his exploring 
expeditions— hence the name, Wagon Wheel Gap. 



48 



RECOLLECTIONS OF COLORADO, NEW MEXICO, 
AND THE TEXAS PANHANDLE 

Reminiscences of a 'yger 

I do not claim to have cut any figure or to have been neces. 
sary in any way to the development, history or advancement of 
the great West in the old days, but speaking in a measure of ex- 
periences we, my partners and I, have met many men and knew 
of many others, who were great characters and were essential 
in the carving of the Great Way; besides we were considerable 
travelers in a short ?pace of time, ourselves. We have, all of 
us, camped on the head waters of the Red River, the Arkansas 
and the Rio Grande. We followed these wonderful rivers from 
their source to almost their joining of the great water ways. 
We have seen the rise and fall of many of the so called "end of 
the railroad town," along the right of way of the old pioneer, 
the Sante Fe railroad, where Brown, Manzaners & Co., the great 
merchant princes, would build and then move onto the next end 
of the railroad. Wc have seen this real developer, the Sante 
Fe, string its first ties along and upon the virgin soil, and we 
have noticed the old time Cow Man, who was possibly a gal- 
vanized greaser, which means a white man who has married a 
Mexican woman, come down to the "cars" with a look of re- 
sentment, and growl about trespassing on the cattle man's do- 
main. We have heard the screech of the Ingin' in no-man's- 
land which would sf:nd the coyote scooting back to the foot 
hills, and have at last seen the cattle man considerably pacified, 
and the coyote, the wild cat and the antelope, stand curious 
while the trains pass. We have driven cattle over the old 
Sante Fe and the old Jones and Plummers Trails, where great 
furrows and ridges were worn by the cattle, for several rods 
across the trail and where the red dust and the alkali white 
would almost choke the fellows who had to keep up the drags, 
in a cattle herd on the trail. 

We have seen Alamosa as an "end of the railroad town" 
when it was a better town than it is today, where the Bull 
Whacker and the Mule Skinner and the Cow Puncher and the 
Miner were all boon companions while they were taking a little 
recreation by playing those wiley, ensnaring and fascinating 
games of Stud Poker, Roulette, etc., and where the winsome 
Senorita Baca would twang her guitar and sing her love songs. 

In those days the boys knew nothing of that home brew, the 
mild and insipid Raisin or Prune Whiskey, which is so common 
now. They always required something that would bite and 
scratch as it went down, just like barbed wire — no Sundaes or 
soft drinks went then. We have known Tom Tobin, who ended 

49 



his days in the willows on the Trinchera Creek, in the San Luis 
Valley, who was a famous scout and a partner and boon com- 
panion of the great Kit Carson. When the famous corres- 
pondent, William E. Curtis, was traveling over the U. S., some 
ten or fifteen years ago, stopping at different places long 
enough to write up local history, he related the following story 
connected with the life of Tom Tobin and Kit Carson. He 
said that in an early day some prominent Mexican had gone 
loco and was killing many people, he became such a desperate 
outlaw that the provisional governor decided to offer a reward 
for his head. Tobin and Carson started out with their guns 
and a gunny sack. After many days of scouting they got on 
his trail and finally arrived with the drop and killed him. They 
chopped off his head, placed it in the gunny sack and took it 
to Fort Garland and claimed the reward — that would be con- 
sidered now days a matter of high finance. 

While it is shown that Kit Carson was not with Tom Tobin, 
as some have thought, on the pursuit of Juan Espinoses and his 
desperate gang and was not with Tobin at the killing, yet his- 
tory tells of his many thrilling adventures and puts him in the 
gratitude of this great nation, not only as a conqueror of many 
Indian Tribes, but as an acquirer and preserver of many leagues 
and domains of Territory for our use as a Nation. 

It was during his fur trapping days that Carson's expedition 
took him into the northwest and he was one of the group of 
pioneers who saved Oregon for the United States, just as later 
he helped win California and the southwest from the Mexicans 
and again helped save these lands from the confederacy during 
the Civil War. Mosi biographers record all these events brief- 
ly. His guiding of John C. Fremont, the "Path Finder", on 
these expeditions in the west; his services in the Mexican War 
under Fremont and Gen. Stephen Kearney; his Indian Cam- 
paigns, including the defeat of the Navajos, and the great battle 
with the Kiowas and Comanches at Adobe Walls in 1864. (This 
battle was ten years previous to the battle at the same place, 
when Billie Dixon, Bat Masterson, Dutch Henry and about 
twenty others stood off over eight hundred Indians and killed a 
large number.) Later biographers record his appointment as 
Indian Agent; his trips to Washington as a member of the U. S. 
Commission; his services in the Civil War, which won him the 
rank of brevet brigadier general, and finally his retirement to 
his home, Taos, New Mexico, and his death at Fort Lyons, May 
23, 1868. 

While he was an implacable foe of the bad Indian he was 
respected and called friend by the good and great chiefs. He 
had their confidence and they believed in him. There is in the 
Historical Museum of Colorado, some relics belonging to Kit 
Carson. Among them is one of his Rifles which was hand 
made by Hawken, a gun maker of the first half of the nine- 
teenth, century. On this rifle there are ninteen notches. 
Each notch marks the death of an Indian, each of them, how- 
ever, of the murderous, bad type. Kit had a good sized family 
and among the children were two boys, young Kit and Billie. I 
knew both Kit and Billie. The latter was a son-in-law of Tom 
Tobin and I worked with Kit Carson Jr. on the Dicky Bro. Cattle 
Ranch in the San Luis Valley. As an illustration of the force 

50 



of character and the sublime control that this great man had 
over Indians it has been told me that on one occasion, while he 
was stationed at Fort Garland and in the employment of the 
United States Army as a Scout, he was detailed on some expe- 
dition and he left the Fort with an ambulance, and mule team 
and took his boys, Billie and Kit, with him. After several 
hours travel he noticed a large body of Indians following him 
and as they drew nearer he noticed they had on all of their War 
insignia and were horribly decorated with the blood signs. They 
were on the War Path. He stopped the ambulance and left 
the two little boys behind and started towards the hostile band 
which was in battle array. As he approached them he held 
up his hands. They stopped and he called for a conference 
with the leading chiefs. He proposed they smoke the tradi- 
tional pipe of peace. He then delivered an ultimation of some 
sort, no one knows what he said or promised, but what ever it 
was, it inspired the spirit of confidence in those battling red 
skins, for at once they turned and went back from whence they 
came. Kit turned and walked slowly toward the ambulance 
and his two little boys, without even glancing backward. He, 
too had confidence that the Indians would keep faith. The 
little sketch that follows gives a very brief, but accurate history 
of this great and just man. Every citizen of this country 
should go to his or her library and get some authentic history 
of this pioneer and read the life of Kit Carson, the Scout, the 
Indian fighter, the Army Officer. 

There is no other frontiersman who has figured in stories 
and in Western history as has Kit Carson. He was born in 
Kentucky Dec. 24, 1809, and removed with his parents when 
a child to Missouri. When 17 years old he joined a party go- 
ing west, which brought him out into the practically unexplor- 
ed wilderness of all this region west of the Missouri river, es- 
pecially Colorado. For eight years he was a hunter for Bent's 
fort, and in the years that followed a guide for Fremont's two 
expeditions in Colorado; Indian fighter, trapper, scout, Union 
officer, friend of the Indians and on almost every page of Colo- 
rado history for many years his name was written. 
Death of Scout. 

Kit Carson was taken sick in Denver on his return from a 
trip to Washington on a peace mission with the Ute Indians. He 
recovered sufficiently to go, to Fort Lyon, in the San Luis valley, 
where he died May 24, 1868. He was buried in Boggsville, his 
old home near Las Animas, but later the body was removed to 
Taos and interred and a great monument erected to his memory. 

Larson's name is linked with gaps, springs, trails and 
mountains in Colorado, and especially in the San Luis valley, 
where he lived for so many years. 

It transpires that Curtis did not give a very accurate ac- 
count of the capture and killing of this blood thirsty desporado. 
In the first place Kit Carson was not with Tobin, because he 
was in Texas when this happened in 1864. On a recent visit 
to the San Luis Valley in September 1921, I was able to learn 
some new history connected with the story of this outlaw. The 
McCarty boys, early residents with their old father near Ft. 
Garland and whom I met at Rifle on Apple Pie Day, told me the 
true story of how Juan Espinoses and his nephew were killed 

51 




THE TWO CARSONS, FATHER AND SON. 

Brig. Gen., Kit Carson, Sr. and Kit Carson, Jr. 
Young Kit was riding for the Dickey outfit while 
I was also working for the same company in 1878 and 
1879. We were told that he was afterwards killed, but 
never got any particulars. The hunting coat that he is wear- 
ing was presented to his father by some big and distinguished 
Chief. Young Kit must have borrowed it for this picture. He 
looks much more distinguished than when I knew him. 



52 



by Tom Tobin, and they also described the place where they 
were killed, as being at a gulch off the LaVeta pass and not so 
very far from old Ft. Garland. Old man McCarty, old man 
Nolan, Tom Tobin and Kit Carson were the early day pioneers 
of this part of the West and helped subdue the desperate char- 
acters, be they either white man or red man. McCarty told his 
boys the story of Tobin's achievement as follows: — A Company 
of soldiers were detailed from Ft. Garland with Tobin, as guide, 
to run down Espinoses and his young nephew. Tobin knew 
about where they were hiding in the Sangre De Christi (Blood 
of Christ) Mountain Range. As the party approached the 
place where Tobin thought they were, early in the morning he 
excused himself to the officer in command and made some ex- 
cuse for leaving camp alone. He explained afterwards that 
he knew the exact spot where these desperados were hiding 
and that he did not want any soldiers along, for the reason that 
the commanders in giving their orders in loud voices would 
frighten the outlaws and thus they would escape again. Tobin 
crawled up to their camp just at day break and waited for them 
to get through breakfast. Presently Juan arose from the camp 
fire and threw his arms in the air and stretched up his full 
length. It was his last stretch. Tobin killed him the first 
shot and he fell across the camp fire. The younger one made 
a dash but Tobin intercepted him. He plead for his life but 
Tobin killed him also. There is no disputing the fact that 
Tobin chopped Juan's head off and carried it to the Fort in a 
gunny sack, and placed it before the officers and demanded they 
take cognizance of the proof that the Espinoses were dead. 

I have the past several months had a very pleasing corres- 
pondence with Mr. Elmo S. Watson, a Professor of Journalism 
at the Illinois University and a writer who is so much interest- 
ed in Western History and who has writen a great many News- 
paper Syndicate Articles and sketches on Indian Scouts, Buf- 
falo Hunters, and Outlaws of the old days. He has gotten to- 
gether a good article and explains in detail many new facts 
and stories of the life of this particularly atrocious Juan Espi- 
noses, and since the scenes are laid in lands that are so familar 
and dear to me and since he describes the facts and particulars 
of the killing of Espinoses by Tom Tobin, whom we knew, we 
take this opportunity of printing the young man's able and en- 
tertaining article, although his story varies a little from that 
told by Tobin to McCarty and other old timers. 

Before we use his story I wish to call the reader's attention 
to still another version of this occurrence as furnished me late- 
ly by an old time friend who was in Alamosa and now lives 
there, Doc Ball. We used to buy our Bull Durham of Doc in 
the '80s. Doc struck Alamosa in 1880 and has stuck ever since. 

"I met Tom Tobin for the first time in 1880, and knew him 
well thereafter, until he died. My first recollection, and one 
of the many things that attracted my attention to him, was the 
incident of the Espinosa Brothers. (There is some difference 
of opinion as to whether they were brothers, some say Juan 
was the uncle of the younger man.) It seemed that these 
two desperados committed some depredations around or about 
Fort Garland, and the Government offered a liberal re- 
ward for their apprehension, dead or alive, so Tom took a 

53 



nephew, a small boy, and went hunting for the Espinosas. This 
he told me himself, that late in the afternoon, he spotted them 
away off in the Mountains near Mt. Blanca, by magpies circl- 
ing over head, and settling down, being carniverous birds, the 
Indian instinct of old Tom assured him that they were after 
meat food, and that meat was being fried by the Espinosas in 
camp, close by. So early the next morning he sneaked up on 
them, and shot them both before they ever had a chance of 
getting the drop on him. He then cut their heads off, put them 
in a gunny sack, and brought them in to the Fort and demanded 
the reward. Captain McCook, Lieut Gilta or which ever or 
who ever was in command, asked for evidence, whereupon he 
emptied the two heads on the floor at their feet. Imagine the 
consternation. This evidence not being sufficient, as the 
whole carcass was in demand, Tom never got the reward from 
the Government, but later, Senator William H. Adams (this 
was Billie Adams, his brother, Alva, ran a store in Alamosa 
in our time), had a bill passed by the State Legislature paying 
him $1000.00 for this very purpose. This was just before he 
died." 

"There were some rumors of family troubles between the 
Tobins and Carsons, but no one seems to be so very familiar re- 
garding the causes^ suffice it to say that in some altercation 
between Billy Carson and his father-in-law, Billy shot Tom, 
wounding him, as Billy claimed, in self defense; however that 
may be, Billy was cleared. Not long afterwards Billy was 
shot in the back of the neck with his boots on, and passed away 
suddenly. It was never known who did it, although there were 
some grave suspicions at the time, but no arrests made. Tomisi- 
to Tobin, Tom's son, was one of the finest men in the country 
and was well known. Afterwards he was appointed, through 
Billy Adams, one of the guards at the state penitentiary, and 
was killed while rounding up some escaped convicts. At one 
time when the Sherman girls were on a visit to Fort Garland 
with their father, Gen. Sherman, they took quite a fancy to 
Billy, especially as he was the son of the Old Scout Kit Carson, 
and besides was a very handsome boy. They took him to Wash- 
ington and had him educated and showed him many favors and 
courtesies. Upon his return he was elected Sheriff of Conejos 
county and made a good officer." 

WATSON'S STORY OF THE ESPINOSAS. 

"Tourists today who drive to Canon City pass through a 
beautiful canon about 10 miles from Colorado Springs and 
there they see some of the most romantic and inviting spots 
along the highway connecting the two cities. But the average 
traveler, as he motors smoothly and swiftly along the graceful 
curves of the road, little imagines or realizes the sinister his- 
tory of the region through which he is passing, for this canon 
is Dead Man's canon, and nearly 60 years ago it received it 
name with a baptism of blood. 

"In the spring of 1863 an old man named Harkins was op- 
erating a sawmill on the little stream which winds through the 
canon. One day he went to his mill and never returned. A 
few days later his body was found with his head split open by 
an ax or hatchet, and a terrified whisper ran through the scat- 
tered settlements of the Pikes Peak region — "The 'Bloody Es- 

54 



pinoses 1 are "here!" For the marks on the slain man were 
those made by Juan Espinosa, Mexican bandit, robber and as- 
sassin, on each of his victims and the killing of Old Man Har- 
luns was one in a long series of murders by the original 'ax- 
man' of Colorado, unparalleled in the criminal history of the 
west, which created a veritable reign of terror in this state a 
century ago. 

"From that day to this, the canon has been known as Dead 
Man's canon and firmly rooted in the minds of the early settlers 
of the surrounding region was the belief that since that day the 
ghost of the murdered man appears nightly in the canon, some- 
times on foot, but more frequently mounted on a white horse. 
Persons of undoubted veracity assert that they have seen this 
phantom rider, and one person is said to have lost his reason 
after an adventure with this mysterious stranger one dark and 
stormy night in the canon. At any rate, before the advent of 
the road builder and the automobilist, lone travelers gave Dead 
Man's canon a wide berth at night and usually avoided it al- 
together by taking a circuitous route around it. 
Bandits Spurs Here. 

"Down in the county court house, in the exhibit cases of 
the ElPaso County Pioneer association, hangs a pair of spurs, 
the sight of which recalls to old-timers the murder of Old Man 
Harkins and the reign of terror that followed, for they are the 
spurs once worn by the younger brother of Juan Espinosa, tak- 
en from the heels of the dead bandit after he had been shot by 
Joseph Lamb on Foui Mile creek, about 20 miles south of Flor- 
issant and 15 miles west of Cripple Creek, in the summer of 
1863. Lamb sold the spurs to Judge Castello of Florissant 
and they remained in the possession of his family until a few 
years ago when they were presented to the Pioneer association 
"by John B. Castello, a son of the judge. 

"The spurs are of hand-wrought Mexican manufacture and 
still have the broad straps which held them on the bandit's 
hoots. The rowels are three inches in diameter with 12 long, 
sharp steel spikes, for the Espinosas were no kinder to the 
horses which they rode than they were to their fellow men, and 
in their vocabulary there was no such word as 'mercy.' On 
the spurs are steel chains which passed under the boot just in 
front of the heel and hanging from each shank are two little 
iron pendants whose tinkling sound was a concession to the 
vanity of the bandit as he strode about among his fellow des- 
peradoes. The Espinosas were men whe 'died with their boots 
on' and these spurs, talten from the boots of one of them, re- 
main as silent witnesses to the story of the infamous bandit 
gang, a story of mad fanaticism and wanton cruelty, of ruthless 
pillage and cowardly assassination, of unprovoked and cold- 
blooded murder, a red page in Colorado history. 
Don Juan Espinosa. 

"At the time of the acquisition of New Mexico by the Unit- 
ed States, Juan Espinosa was a wealthy landowner, residing 
upon his ancestral hacienda in a sort of barbaric luxury with 
a host of peons to do his bidding. He owned vast herds of 
cattle and sheep and was one of the many self-styled aristo- 
crats of the southwest who boasted of their Castilian blue 
Mood, claiming descent from the nobles of Cortez's army. With 

55 



him lived his brother and sister, the latter a beautiful senprita 
of 17 years. Into this semibarbaric household came a young 
American between whom and Espinosa a strong bond of friend- 
ship was established, The young American fell in love with 
the Espinosa girl, according to tradition, and she reciprocated 
his affection. 

"The American had with him a large sum of money which 
Espinosa coveted. One night the Mexican stole into his 
guest's room but in withdrawing the money from beneath the 
American's pillow, he awoke the boy and the American, suppos- 
ing him to be an ordinary thief, shot at him. Espinosa stabbed 
him to the heart. The report of the shot aroused the house- 
hold and the sister, rushing into the room and seeing her broth- 
er with a bloody dagger in his hand and her lover dead before 
him, was stricken with insanity, from which she never recover- 
ed. With her curses ringing in his ears, Juan Espinosa, accom- 
panied by his younger brother, fled to the mountains and estab- 
lished his headquarters in the Sangre de Cristo mountains in 
the San Luis valley, where he gathered about him a gang of 
other murderers, thieves and desperadoes. 

Beginnings of Bandit Gang. 

"Then began the operations of this gang which soon ter- 
rorized the whole country about them. They robbed indis- 
criminately the overland coaches to Santa Fe, the wagon trains 
of traders and the sovernment, the ranches of Mexicans and 
anyone else within the radius of their operations. Of this 
gang, Juan Espinosa was the archfiend and in addition to his 
robbing tendencies he seems to have become imbued with the 
idea that he had been selected by some power on high as an 
avenging angel whose special commission was to kill all Amer- 
icans who came into his power. With this idea in mind he set 
about the career which made him infamous and before it ended 
with his death he had killed 32 Americans without provocation, 
shooting them from ambush in the daytime or creeping upon 
them at night and dispatching them with dagger or an ax, his 
favorite method. 

"The deeds of Espinosa began to fill men's minds and with 
the increasing number of settlers in the country through which 
he raided, decisive measures were taken to put an end to his 
murderous career. A systematic man hunt began. Espinosa 
was driven out of the San Luis valley. Repeated repulses of 
his attacks on wagon trains decimated his band until it was 
broken up and Espinosa and his brother fled north. Their 
visit to the Pikes Peak region was signalized by the murder of 
Old Man Harkins in Dead Man's canon. They passed on into 
what is now Park county, killing one man near the site of Lake 
George on the Colorado Midland railroad and four at the pres- 
ent town of Fairplay. 

Murders in Park County. 

"Two of the latter were well known prospectors named 
Lyman and Seyga, citizens of California Gulch, now Leadville. 
and when the news of their murder reached that mining camp, 
a posse headed by Captain John McCannon and Joseph Lamb 
left California Gulch with the grim determination of ending the 
career of the "Bloody Espinosas" for all time. The posse trail- 
ed the bandits from Red Hill in Park county to Four Mile creek 

56 



.•and, following the trail down this stream, the miners came up- 
on the Espinosas' camp in a little side-canon about 20 miles 
north of Canon City. In the battle that followed the younger 
Espinosa was shot by Joseph Lamb, but Juan Espinosa escaped. 
Lamb took from the boots of the dead bandit as a trophy of the 
man hunt, the spurs which now are in the collections of the 
Pioneer association here and the posse returned to California 
Gulch, believing that its mission had been accomplished. But 
they did not realize that the master murderer had eluded them 
once more. 

"He returned to his old haunts and in 1864 induced his 
nephew to join him in renewed depredations. Their return 
was signalized by more murders and rewards aggregating $1,- 
500 were offered for the capture, dead or alive, of the Espinosa. 
Pspinosa next captured an American but, instead of killing 
him, decided to hold him for ransom. However, the man es- 
caped and went immediately to Port Garland where he demand- 
ed that Espinosa be caught and punished. A troop of cavalry 
was dispatched in pursuit of the bandits but it returned empty 
handed for the fugitives had little difficulty in eluding such a 
large force. 

"When the soldiers returned, Tom Tobin, a famous old 
mountaineer and one of Kit Carson's closest friends, was sent 
for and went out alone to "get" the Espinosa. He trailed them 
into the Sangre de Christi mountains and at last one evening 
found them encamped under the shelter of a shelving rock 
above a small stream. Stalking his quarry as he would wild 
animals, Tobin crept closer and closer until he was near enough 
to make sure that he would not miss. The two men were 
crouched over a tiny fire warming their hands, but in {he dim 
Jight they presented a poor target even for a marksman of 
Tobin's ability. At last Juan Espinosa, withdrawing his hands 
irom the flame, rose slowly to his feet and stretched both arms 
wide, forming with his body a perfect cross and presenting a 
target which loomed up clearly in the fading light. 
End of the Espinosas. 

"Tobin fired and Juan Espinosa fell forward across his 
oampfire. The nephew whirled about and scrambled to his 
feet. The mountaineer fired again and the last of the Espino- 
sas dropped dead. Tobin is said to have cut off the head of 
Juan Espinosa and to have carried it back to Fort Garland, 
where he claimed the reward. The head is reported to have 
"been preserved in alcohol and. afterward taken to Pueblo, where 
it is now said to occupy a place in a collection of skulls of noted 
murderers." 

JOHN EVANS ASSISTS IN THE EXTERMINATION 

John Evans, Governor, an early resident of Attica, Ind., as- 
sists in the extermination. 

We had always understood that the reward that was offer- 
ed for this bad man was very liberal and one account makes 
the statement that it was $2000.00 for his body dead or alive, 
since Tobin only produced the head, which was only a part of 
his body, we suppose technically he was not awarded the full 
amount, because you know, the jowl of a hog, likened to Esp- 
inoses, never did bring full price. (This is verified some- 
what in Ball's account.) This reward was offered by John 

57 




TOM TOBIN, THE OLDEST SCOUT. 

Tom Tobin, Scout, Indian Fighter, and boon companion and 
neighbor of Kit Carson, when they lived near old Ft. Garland. 
Note the pose, even in the picture he is apparently looking and 
listening for Indian signs. It was a habit of the old scouts to 
be ever on their guard and continually turning their heads, 
looking for Indians, and other "Varments." 



58 



Evans, provisional Governor of Colorado. It's remarkable and 
fitting at this time to recall and exploit the life of this great 
Governor. John Evans was in the very earliest times asso- 
ciated with the life of Attica, Ind., my native home, in making 
her first history, and who was also instrumental in the death 
of Espinoses by putting the instrument, the reward, into the 
hands of Tom Tobin to kill him with. Tobin I met near the 
scene of this blood thirsty encounter. I get many facts re- 
lated by J. Wesley Whickcar, of Attica, on this great man, John 
Evans, and many other characters in this, our home, vicinity. 
The very first history of Evans discloses the fact that he came 
from Ohio, Waynesboro I think, as a young doctor, with a 
young wife, to- the new and untried west, of which Attica was 
the center of a new world. Shortly afterwards, an itinerate 
young preacher, a companion and great friend of John Evans 
in the home of their youth in Ohio, also cast his lot in pioneer 
preaching with the settlers of this wonderful new country. 
Henry Benson was this preacher man's name and he has left 
many of his progeny of that name and many men and women 
of much influence, many of afluence, and all of respectability. 
Some old citizens say that he preached alternately at Bethel 
and Attica and was of the old fashioned Methodist faith. Na- 
turally he and Evans were associated together, and they enjoy- 
ed and renewed their comradship and became closer bound in 
their companionship These were the days when the saloon 
and the whiskey questions were momentous ones and Benson 
was energetically opposed to them and he undertook a series 
of revivals both at Bethel and at Attica, with the paramount 
subject and text showing strong prejudices against the whiskey 
and its entanglements. It's told that while campaigning at 
Bethel he boarded with Tom Campbell's grandfather, an old 
resident of Attica, Jonathan Campbell. Evans of course at- 
tended these meetings and took some interest. Finally Ben- 
son "spiked" him to join the church on the plea that he needed 
Evans to use his influence and help him fight the liquor demon. 
Evans consented and was of some help during these revivals 
and showed that he had lots of stuff in him suitable for the 
making and uplifting of this wild west and wooly metropolis. 
Time went on and he achieved fame as a physician. He es- 
tablished his office on the corner of what is now a vacant lot 
adjoining Horace Brant's store on the east. His wife died 
after they moved to Chicago and she was buried in what we call 
the old cemetery at Attica and her grave was properly marked 
by a substantial tombstone and the same is standing today, 
with the letters in good preservation and the same can be read 
clearly and distinctly as follows: "Hannah R. Evans, wife 
of Dr. John Evans, born at Lebanon, Ohio, June 9, 1813, died 
in Chicago, 111., October 1850." There are three sons buried in 
the same lot. These must have died in Attica and their names 
are marked, "Joseph C, David, and John," And it is recalled 
that the body of Mrs. Evans was brought overland in a wagon, 
from Chicago. Evans left Attica for the reason that Chicago 
was coming to the fore and on some of his trips with parties 
delivering products to the city by wagon, he realized that the 
field was about the right size for his dreams, since his friends 
at home called him a dreamer. One day when the spirit of 

59 



prophecy was upon him, he disclosed to a group of his friends", 
that before he died he intended to build a city, found a collegev 
be governor of a State, go to the United States Senate, make 
himself famous and amass a fortune — he did more. He es- 
tablished the State Hospital for the Insane at Indianapolis and 
was its first Superintendent, and remained as such until 1848, 
then retired to move to Chicago and accept a chair in Rush Med- 
ical College. He cast about for an opening for the building 
of a city and became impressed with the beauties and practica- 
bility of the North Shore, twelve miles from the Chicago River. 
He purchased a large body of land, and builded a city and call- 
ed it Evanston. He made a fortune in this and other enter- 
prizes and with part of it he established the Northwestern Un- 
iversity, in Evanston, and endowed two chairs with $50,000.00 
each. He was an ardent and loyal supporter of Lincoln in the 
Convention that nominated Lincoln for the Presidency. After 
Lincoln was elected President he wanted Evans to be a member 
of his Cabinet, but he declined, saying there were many others 
better fitted for that place than he. Lincoln then asked him 
to be provincial governor for some Western State and suggest- 
ed that Evans visit the different Western States and make the 
selection of the state that he liked best. He choose Colorado, 
and moved to Denver. This was when his history linked itself 
with the history of Tom Tobin, of the Trinchera, and also with 
some other rugged characters of that time. He established 
the University of Denver, giving towards the erection $200,000, 
he builded a Railroad in Colorado, and practically erected the 
Grace Methodist Church in Denver, and aided many educational 
institutions and churches throughout the States. He died in 
Denver July 3, 1897, and was buried there far from the modest 
little plot where rests the ashes and dust of his first wife, 
Hannah, and his three sons. J. Wesley Whickcar says m the 
conclusion of his article on this famous man, "Judged by his 
achievements Dr. John Evans is undoubtedly the greatest man 
who ever made his home in Attica." 

THE MEDINO RANCH, SAN LOUIS VALLEY 
The Dicky Brothers were extensive cattle owners of that day, 
having herds in the Indian Territory, Montana and Colorado, 
One of the best friends that we ever had, east or west, Charles 
Plowman, was the foreman of the herd in the Territory at a 
time when it took nerves of steel and a man of iron will to 
handle the Indian situation. He could do this because he was 
a diplomat, square and fearless. When we first joined the 
Dickey forces, in Colo., there was a man by the name of Wild 
Bill — not the Hickok Wild Bill. I really never knew his cor- 
rect name — have learned since it was Coleman— but at that 
time he was cooking for the outfit, afterwards becoming the 
foreman of the Montana herd, he did not fancy the culinary 
department, and asked me to take his place. I consented as I 
had had my fill of stacking hay, so I undertook the task of cook- 
ing for about fifteen or twenty of the most hecklin', complainin' 
and critical bunch of husky Cow Punchers and Hay Restlers 
that was ever unloaded on a pilgrim cook. But with all that 
handicap I became famous as a cook, pardon the thought. My 
famous piece de resistance was what is known in the east as, 
the lowly and despised dried apple pie. I used a peculiar and 

60 



fetchy way in baking this pie. For instance I would heap up 
great gobs of apples for the filling and over the top I would 
place some fantastic strips of dough, with cunning little de- 
signs thereon, and then on the rind I would affix emblamatical 
little cupids, and then I would throw a God's quantity of sugar 
inside. This was done so that if any one had a sweet tooth 
they would have no difficulty in downing it. This pie became 
so famous that the Mexicans would ride for many miles to the 
ranch and inquire of me if I had "any pies este dios Senor." 
They just loved those artful and wonderful pies, and they 
thought so well of me as a chef that they got to calling me 
"Compadre." That must have had some deifical significance, 
as no doubt the Virgin Mary was a good cook also. 

Probably thirty years ago I cut from a Chicago paper the 
following clipping announcing the death of Will Dickey, who 
was one of the Brothers for whom we worked, on their big 
ranch in the San Luis valley, Colo. We have been told that 
Will in making his will, gave to some of the boys quite a sum of 
money. He remembered his foremen especially, so that Theo. 
Worthington, Ed Creighton, and Wild Bill Coleman no doubt 
came into their share. We of course had not been with the out- 
fit long enough to be entitled to any bequest. 

BEGAN LIFE AS A COWBOY. 
Sudden Death of W. W. Dickey, the Millionaire Ranchman. 

"W. W. Dickey, president of the Dickey Cattle company of 
Chicago, died at Wichita Falls, Texas, Thursday afternoon of 
injuries received from a fall while attending to duties on the 
company's ranch in Texas. Mr. Dickey has been a resident of 
Chicago for five years. He was a prominent member of the 
Chicago club; also of the Washington Park club. He lived 
with his brother, Valentine B. Dickey, at 370 Dearborn avenue. 

"W. W. Dickey was born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1853 — the son 
of R. R. Dickey, a prominent business man of Ohio. He was 
educated in Dayton and entered Princeton college in 1873. The 
following spring he and his younger brother, Valentine, went 
to Colorado and engaged in the service of a Denver capitalist as 
cowboys. A year later they received aid from their grand- 
father and engaged in the cattle business themselves. Their 
first venture proved a failure, and a second time they borrowed 
money from their grandfather and located a ranch at Colorado 
Springs. This effort proved a success. They tripled their 
capital and extended their herds into Indian territory and Mon- 
tana. For ten years the young men lived in the saddle, sell- 
ing their cattle through a Chicago commission man. In 1881 
they established headquarters in this city, forming the Dickey 
Cattle company, with a capital of $1,000,000. They were pi- 
oneers in crossing with shorthorns, then with Angus and other 
approved English and Scotch blood. 

"At the time President Cleveland issued the order for 
cattlemen to vacate 1 Indian territory Mr. Dickey had a lease 
from the Indians of 100,000 acres of land on which were 60,000 
head of cattle. The moving of the stock at the late season and 
the forfeiture of the lease cost the firm $400,000.00. Mr. Dickey 
was able to find only a temporary place for the herds, and at 

61 



the time of his death he was seeking permanent grazing fields', 
"W. W. Dickey was 33 years old. In thirteen years the 
brothers had amassed $2,500,000. They had cattle in Texas,, 
Colorado, and Montana. 

A word of description of the Sunny San Luis Valley. The 
cattle man, that was the principal class of citizen in there at 
our time, did not appreciate the wonderful virtues it had as a 
cow country, and hooted at any possibility of its ever develop- 
ing into anything but a place to run cattle, and he reluctant- 
ly admitted that it was a fairly good Valley for harboring and 
grazing of cattle, and as for water there was a plenty, since 
the scenic Rio Grande River cut the Valley in the middle. 
They also granted that protection was ample, since this hugh 
saucer was entirely surrounded by The Sange De Christe 
and other ranges of Mountains, topped by old Sierrie 
Blanca, one of the highest peaks in Colorado, but as an offset 
to any complimentary statements, they hollered their heads 

off about the D Mosquitos and the prevailing high winds. 

Little did they appreciate or show much interest in the many 
phenomenon or historic and picturesque things connected with 
this, one of the greatest and largest valleys in the west. Their 
vision was dimmed if there was mentioned the two oldest 
passes, the Costilla and the LaVeta, with their many box 
canons, now the more prominent ones are the Marshal and Ten- 
nessee, leading to the city of Leadville and the Cochetopa, 
where the government has built a beautiful National Park and 
put boulevards over the Mountains. John C. Fremont and 
Kit Carson, the Path Finders, and whose spirits of expeditions, 
are still felt, tramped these passes and trailed the Valley iti 
every little by-path. No mention was made of the many re- 
markable health giving hot and medicinal springs, which the 
red man untilized by bringing his ailing squaw or his fighting 
buck for medical treatment. The mud bath was known then 
as well as now. 

No thought was given to that wonderful, strange sight, the 
Sand Dunes, but on the other hand they were cussed as being 
a nuisance and conclusively they had no expectation of any 
possibility of the watering of this desert and its blossoming 
into a Garden of Eden, and which now is the champion Spud 
center of the world and a wonderful yielder of all small grains, 
and the big herds have become the little dairy mites, and early 
peas are making the Berkshire and the Poland China curl their 
tails. We knew how the boys felt and the thoughts they 
thought. It was ride all day and stand night herd all night, 

counting the days until we would get to town and then . 

He'd race over the shifting sands, breasting the sage brush 
clumps, kicking the despised grease wood, and skirting the 
great Medino Lakes, then for the night herd in hugh alkali 
beds — happy, carefree, independent, uncomplaining, quick to 
resent an insult, free with his tobacco, proud of his pony and 
a crank for a Stetson Sombrero. His like never was, and never 
again his like will be. No moving picture can portray him as 
he was and no actor can play him. Bill Hart, the master that 
he is, does not know him. Here's what he used to do when he 
lived in his saddle and slept in his saddle blankets: — 

62 



All day long on the prairie I ride, 

Not even a dog to trot by my side, 
My fire I kindle with chips gathered round, 

And I boil my coffee without being ground. 
My bread like unleaven, I bake a pot, 

I sleep on the ground for want of a cot, 
I wash in a puddle, wipe on a sack, 

And carry my wardrobe all on my back. 
The skies are my ceiling, my carpet the grass, 

My music the lowing herds as they pass, 
My books are the brook, and my sermons the stones, 

My parson a wolf; on a pulpit of bones. 
But now if my cooking ain't complete, 

Hygienists can't blame me for living to eat, 
And where is the man who sleeps more profound 

Than a puncher who stretches himself on the ground. 
My books teach me consistency ever to prize, 

My sermons that small things I should not despise, 
My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones, 

The Lord favors those who look out for their own. 

AN INTERVIEW OF MANY YEARS AGO 

Our old beloved editor friend, Al Peacock, a good many 
years ago took advantage of us one evening and succeeded in 
having us give him, unconsciously on our part, an interview 
covering a small part of our lives in the San Luis Valley. The 
same was published in his paper and the following is a copy: 

"A congenial party were gathered on an inviting lawn, on 
Monday evening, cooling off from the day's perspiration and 
giving bits of experiences that wore off the effect of the heated 
hours of business. The desultory talk switched around to the 
Attica emigration to the San Luis valley in Colorado, to the 
number of people that had followed the leadership of "Dad" 
Ahrens. 

" ' That's a great climate,' said 0. S. Clark, as he tilted his 
chair and relighted bis cigar — an indication that the man of 
few words was going to open up and tell something worth hear- 
ing. T was there twenty-nine years ago when the San Luis 
valley had nothing but cattle and cowboys and a climate that, 
in a measure, made up for its lonesomeness. Monte Vista, and 
Center, and Pagosa Springs and LaJara and other towns, were 
unheard of and the big town, in the valley was Alamosa, which 
was the end of the railroad. Charles Shideler and I herded 
cattle all over that valley. Never knew we were cow-punch- 
ers? Why, we were in the "perfesh" six or eight years in that 
valley and in the Texas Panhandle, long enough to get past the 
degree of "tenderfoot" and to be recognized as members in good 
standing of the order of Quick Trigger Cowboys. I remember 
our farewell to San Luis valley as though it were yesterday. 
Charley and I had concluded that the pot of gold was in the 
Panhandle and we sold our cattle and started for the fortune. 
We concluded to say good-bye after a roundup of the sights at 
Alamosa, which was then a typical western town. The place 
was over-crowded with cowboys who had come in for their 
weekly revelry and Charley and I were perfectly contented in 
beds constructed in a livery stable stall. We had expected to 

63 



put in a few days recreating. We put in one night and on the 
following morning we went down inside of our leather belts, 
hauled out our cash and counted it. We had spent $50 in one 
night in seeing just a few of the minor sights. Neither of us 
said a word; as each made for his horse and threw on the sad- 
dle. Words were useless at such a time. The leather pouch 
silently told of our finish if we remained in that rapid town. It 
was no place for us. 

" ' Charley was to go out of the way to see about the pur- 
chase of some calves and it was agreed that I should take the 
pack horse and go down the trail, to meet in the canon, thirty 
or forty miles away. I met with a mishap in packing and had 
to remain another n"ght in Alamosa. I secured a room in a 
log hotel and retired early, to keep away from the 'sights' that 
ate up money like an electric sausage-grinder chews mOat. All 
went well until the cowboy gang opened up business in the bar 
room, which was directly under where I was trying to sleep. 
The shooting in that bar room began at 10 o'clock and con- 
tinued, with intervals of rest, until 4 o'clock the following 
morning. I knew that when the cowboys shot just to let the 
natives know they were in town their aim was usually at the 
chandeliers and the ceiling, so you can imagine how comfort- 
able I felt. I perched on the headboard of the bed. then climb- 
ed on the washstand. then rolled the bed to the farthest corner, 
expecting every minute to have my body as full of holes as a 
sieve. The cowboys were not the only busy people that 
night I was just as busy dodging imaginary bullets as they 
were in firing real ones. The next morning I started down the 
canon and had gone about twenty miles when the pack-horse 
got to bucking because the bundles were chafing him. When 
he got through, the trail for miles was strewn with clothes, and 
grub and cooking utensils. I was so discouraged that I left 
the animal and proceeded without the outfit. Shortly after 
midnight my pony was picking his way along the mountain side 
when I heard the click of a rifle. I stopped and a short dis- 
tance ahead I saw the outline of a man crawling towards me 
with a rifle in front of him. "Don't shoot!" I yelled. "Halt 
then, and tell your business," came back the reply. And by 
this time he had advanced until I could look into the barrel of 
his gun. "Take that gun down, please," I pleaded, "I've lost my 
way — that's all." He came up and looked me over, like I was 
a prize hog at a county fair, and concluded to let me pass. He 
was a sentinel watching for cattle thieves who had committed 
many depredations in the valley, and I firmly believe that if I 
had not spoken first he would have fired on me, for little warn- 
ing was ever given night marauders. 

" T know of nc recreation that would give me so much 
pleasure as to spend a month in San Luis valley, every inch of 
which I knew when a boy and none of which I have seen since 
the memorable trip out of Alamosa and away from the cowboys' 
guns. It is all changed now, of course, but I think I can find 
some spots where danger lurked and where the wooly way of 
doing things were so impressed upon my memory as to never 
be effaced. Charley and I are going to renew our youth in 
the San Luis valley next year, (the next year came in September 
1921,) and it will be the greatest trip of our lives. Gee whiz ! 

64 







A SAMPLE OF THE WILD WEST SPORTS. 
Stampede Day at Monte Vista, Colorado. 



65 



It's 11 o'clock. Goodnight.' And the mild-mannered ex-cow 
puncher departed, while the host gathered up half a box of 
burned matches that had been used in keeping the cigar going 
while the interesting narrative was being given." 
THE OLD AND THE NEW 

0. S. Clark, our fellow townsman, recently returned from a 
three weeks trip to the San Luis Valley, and the intervening 
territory over which he cow punched and broncho busted for 
several years during the late 70's and the early 80's. As he 
went along in this trip over the grounds of his youth, he jotted 
down some of the observations and experiences of those thrill- 
ing days, as they were brought back to his memory by the few 
old landmarks which still stand somewhat as they did then. 
By his permission wo publish his story which is as follows: 

The writer for a number of years has been attending the 
Rifle, Colorado, rodeos and this year as usual we have been 
anticipating this event, marked for September 1 and 2, and we 
were all set on the eve before when according to Nature's own 
blessings, the flood gates and the irrigation ditches turned loose 
and considerably interfered with the ridin', ropin' and broncho 
bustin.' 

"After endeavoring to dig up a little excitement of some 
sort out of the general disappointment occasioned by the rain, 
we gave it up and commenced to make some observations and 
also comparisons with the old time buster and the new fancy 
bustin'. This comparison has a span of forty years and our 
earliest recollection is of the affairs that were held in Alamosa, 
Dodge City, Caldwell and other cow towns in the late 70's and 
early 80's. Alamosa was the end of the railroad then and after 
the round-ups the boys just had to blow off steam and go to 
town — the mule skinner, the bull whacker and the miner would 
be there to help along with the fun while at the same time Sen- 
orita Baca would sing her love songs and several New York 
dressed "chickens" would of course be at the Long Branch 
dance hall. The c^w punchers from all over the San Luis 
valley would of course be on hand, the boys from the Adee and 
Durkee outfit (Mr. Durkee was a son of the famous Durkee 
salad dressing manufacturer in the east) and from the Dicky 
Bros, outfit were always present. We are not naming any 
names or giving anything away, but Theo Worthington, Ed. 
Creighton, Kit Carson Jr., George Craig, Hank Hocker and sev- 
eral other fellows whom we knew were there, yes, and Wild Bill 
Coleman and Charley Shideler of Rifle were included. 

"The writer, of course, was not an active participant, owing 
to his inborn, modesc disposition, besides we never had as much 
money to blow in as those other rich fellows who thought they 
were millionaires, temporarily, maybe. It was discovered 

that we could play the piano a little back east where it was 
tolerated and one night the boys urged us to play a little gallop 
or something at the Long Branch. I happened to be close to 
the piano and I glanced up and saw suspended over the piano a 
good sized sign printed in large letters with the following, "Do 
not shoot the pianist, he is doing his best," I declined playing 
as I always had a hunch that I would not like to be shot in the 
back. 

Since we are showing a good picture of the old corral at 

66 




THE OLD CORRAL, MEDINO RANCH. 

The old corral, south of the Dickey Ranch House. Our 
first work was helping to build this corral. Inside it was 
where Vol Dicky was bucked off the yearling calf he was brand- 
ing. The big post in the fore part of the picture, was where 
the wild bulls hit it broadside and spilt me and the beans, 
coming from the Zapato, and described elsewhere. 



6? 



the Dickey brothers' ranch on the Medino, it will be fitting to 
mention the fact that the first work that these work-finding 
brothers got out of Charley and I was to place the large cotton- 
wood poles on the top layers of this ungainly looking corral, 
assisted by some humbres. The Mexicans did the work and 
we did the grunting After the corral was completed and I 
got a promotion to the culinary department, we were ordered 
one day to this corral and told to pilot a freshly yoked pair of 
Oxen over to the Zapata, the Adee and Durkea Ranch and 
get some supplies. The boys took special pains to advise me 
that these particular two bulls were perfectly docile and gentle 
and counseled me as to just how I should proceed, since it was 
new business to me. I became, however, an old hand at the 
business in about twenty minutes from the flag pole. When 
they let down the bars and we cleared the corral, headed for 
the prairie I found myself in the front end of the wagon with 
nothing to hold to but a couragious spirit and a strong resolve. 
We hit broadside every clump of sage brush there was on that 
prairie and the alkali dust resembled a dust storm. Those 
bulls had a most friendly disposition for other cattle and every 
herd that they saw they disposed to run down and visit them a 
while and there was no way to stop them or start them on the 
road again. After some balking, much bucking and a reason- 
able amount of swearing we reached our destination, loaded up 
and pointed Mushaway and Buck homeward where some dis- 
grunted cow punchers were awaiting for the cook to come 
back. We negotiated all of the sage brush clumps, sand hills 
and alkali beds and passed the time of day with all visiting 
herd of cattle on our return as we had on our going over. We 
were in sight of the corral at dusk and as soon as those bulls 
saw the old corral they made a run and jump for the opening. 
■ Their calculations were bad and their eyesight was worse. 
We struck one of the posts broadside and in a second the wagon 
was turned upside down and I was underneath, mussing around 
with the bacon and lard and my whiskers frosted with the 
flour. I yelled for assistance, but the average cow puncher is 
an unfeeling cuss and a hard hearted wretch. I eventually 
crawled out and noticed the bulls nonchallantly chewing their 
cud and any observing man could see that these particular 
oxen, from their present appearance were perfectly docile and 
always innocently inclined and never ran off, under any cir- 
cumstance. 

My one vivid recollection of my early days working on a 
cow ranch brings to my mind when I hired to Vol Dicky of the 
Dicky Bros., on the Medano. My profession at that time was 
as cook and as such 1 was hired. They asked me one day to go 
to the corral and help brand calves. I did so and my duty 
after the calf was roped and thrown was to put my foot behind 
the calf's under leg and then hold the upper leg with my hands 
and all my might. The roper brought out a big frisky calf 
and we got into position. Vol was doing the branding and 
contrary to the rules he straddled the calf and commenced to 
bum him with the iron. Immediately the calf gave a bellow, 
pulled away from mc and got on his feet with Vol and his iron 
on his back. He commenced to buck and circled the corral, 
Vol doing his best to get off. The calf finally gave a big buck 

68 




THE OLD RANCH HOUSE ON THE MEDINO. 

The Dickey Bros. Ranch House on the Medino, where we 
did some fancy and decorative cooking in 1878. The window 
on the left leads into the kitchen, and off the kitchen was the 
Commissary where the Store Keeper sold us Star Plug Tobacco 
at double prices and took it out of our wages. On the right 
is Charley Shideler, Rifle Colo., and 0. S. Clark, Attica, Ind., on 
the left. Picture taken in 1921. 



69 



and Vol cleared the hurricane deck. When Vol lit, I was un- 
fortunately close by and what he said to me was quite awful 
and for 43 years I have been endeavoring to forget his harsh 
and unbecoming mode of address. I slinked off to the cook 
camp and put on a pot of frijoles — I was not hired to brand 
calves anyway. 

Of course the old fashioned cow town was always painted 
in tints of red and was always ready and willing for any rough 
stuff and a little accidental shooting that might take place. 
This is where the real comparison is noticeable. Why, these 
new boys couldn't eat sage bush and cook with a cow chip fire 
like every old rough "puncher" in the old days and on the old 
ranges had to. We notice now when the late and so called up- 
to-date one comes in, he breaks for the barber shop and gets all 
dolled up — the first thing the old fellow used to do was get a 
drink. They had no use for a dude, especially one that was a 
little tender in the feet. 

Paddy Welsh was the Boss Cook on the big round-ups, and 
he could sting the lead mule on a four mule Mess Wagon with 
his black snake to a ricety. He could get his cooking outfit to 
camp the quickest and have the meals ready the most promptly, 
and sing the loudest of any chef in the West. It was from him 
that I got my few brief lessons in cookery, peace to his pies, and 
may his spirit never return with any of his rock ribbed, sour 
dough biscuits that would sink to the bottom of your stomach 
like a chunk of lead. Paddy was averse to anything in the 
Dude line. By some circumstance one of this species drifted 
into the cow camp, and one day Paddy was mixing a batch of 
bread and in order to introduce the boy to the rough ways of a 
well regulated cow camp, and while the boy was actively watch- 
ing Paddy mix the bread, he spit in the Dutch Oven in which 
he was going to bake the bread, and immediately slapped the 
batch in the oven and went off whistling. The boy at supper 
that night "went around the bread," and it was apparent that 
he did not care for any sour dough "pan" that had been doc- 
tored like that was. He remarked to some of the cow punch- 
ers one day that he liked the cattle business pretty well, ex- 
cept that he did not like to "set up with the cows", he meant 
night herding. 

He was standing close to the mess wagon one day, trying 
to manipulate a fresh cigarette, and Paddy espied him, he turn- 
ed in disgust, and muttered to himself, "look at 'im smokin' 

them D paper cigars, he'll be atin' custard pie and hash 

nixt." 

On the present trip it has been my privilege to visit the 
San Luis valley with my side partner, Charles Shideler, and 
his estimable wife and we have hunted and located the ranches 
where we worked and have endeavored to find some of the boys 
who worked with us in the old days. We located Dr. Ball and 
Myron Wilkins at Alamosa, and some others. We found the 
old Dicky ranch on the Medano, but of course greatly enlarged 
and now operated by the Lingers. The old Adee and Durkee 
ranch is practically as it was 40 years ago. While at Alamosa 
we heard about most of the boys, but do not find many of the 
78'ers there. John Gergason has recently retired from busi- 
ness. We b ught our overalls and red shirts from him. It 

70 



has been difficult to find the location of some of the famous 
places but we found the site of the old hotel and the only build- 
ing remaining is the livery barn a little below the San Luis 
hotel. This barn was operated by Myron Wilkins who is still 
running it. This place was always a meeting and visiting 
place for the boys — it was lodging room by night and sandwich 
rooms by day. One night after a thoroughly enjoyable even- 
ing, Charley and I became separated and he went to bed first. 
When I arrived at the Hotel de Horse the outer vestibule was 
closed, and the night clerk had retired. I looked for a means 
to get in and found a board off on the east side of the barn and 
I stepped in — down I went into the well, which was uncovered. 
Despite my yells for help, those old case-hardened and unfeel- 
ing cow punchers would not take enough interest to even look 
down the well. I got out, however, and went to my stall and 
slept till morning. I have made a kodak picture of this his- 
toric hostelry, as in all probability my children should in time 
know how dad was hard boiled and could snuff alkali off his 
whiskers like a greaser. We have just driven around the Big 
Lakes in the Medano country and remember the old Indian 
tradition, when a certain tribe was passing through the valley 
and 40 of their best bucks rode into the lake and disappeared. 
No Indians were ever seen in that vicinity thereafter. Their 
superstition taught them that the spirits of their departed 
brothers was associated with the lake and that they should not 
be disturbed. We also noticed that Dead Man's gulch is still 
gulching and that the Sand Dunes are still duneing, but there 
does not seem to be any effort' to dig out, resuscitate or resur- 
rect the traditional 1500 sheep and their herders that were 
buried by these rolling and tumbling mountains of sand. 

We found the ever persistant Medano Creek, still trickling 
through the Big Sand Dunes, still fighting for its very existance. 
These Sands have threatened for hundreds, and perhaps 
thousands, of years to choke the source and obliterate this 
charming little stream, by their rolling and tumbling, hissing 
particles. 

After some search among the Sand Hills we located the 
familiar Dickey Bros. Horse Ranch, through which the classic 
stream flows, the Medano, and where Claude Lindley, as Boss, 
and myself held a bunch of cattle during a part of the summer, 
while Charley Shideler and the other boys threw the cattle in 
to us from off the round-up. 

All of the old timers in the Valley knew Lindley, but none 
knew where he is now, although the McCarty boys, who used to 
be on the Trincher^, and whom we met at Apple Pie Day in 
Rifle told me that he was in Pueblo. 

The McCarty boys and their old father lived near Fort 
Garland and the old gentleman, Kit Carson, Tom Tobin, and old 
man Nolen were all boon companions and were the real Indian 
Fighters for that part of the west in very early days. 

One of the happiest parts of our trip occurred at Alamosa 
while my partner, Charley Shideler, and myself were browsing 
around hunting China Pete's old location. Pete was a woman, 
As we turned the corner at the Victoria hotel we bumped into 
Sam Hannah, his wife and her sister, whom we did not know 
were any place but Howard, Kans. Mr. Hannah was in the 

71 




SAN LUIS. 

A good miniature map of the eastern slope of the San Luis 
Valley, showing a prominent point of the Sange De Christi 
Range, Mount Sierre Blanca, one of the highest Peaks in the 
Western country. Just north of this peak is the Zapato Creek, 
where, in the foot hills nestled the old Adee and Durkea Ranch, 
where we first worked. Between Hooper and the Sand Dunes 
ran the Medino creek, on which was located the old Dickey 
Bros. Home Ranch, (a picture of the house is shown elsewhere). 
Claude Lindley and I held a herd of cattle on this creek, a part 
of one summer, while the cow punchers threw the cattle in to 
us from off the round-ups. The Great Sand Dunes are of spec- 
ial interest, and a description of them appears elsewhere. 
Blanca South and near it was Fort Garland, all historic ground, 
since Kit Carson, Tom Tobin, and others, together with John 
C. Fremont, the Path Finder, made this country safe for incom- 
ing expeditions, that were headed by Fremont. In a gulch, on 
the La Veta Pass, not far from Blanca, marks the place where 
Tom Tobin killed the Espinosas boys. 



72 



valley two years before we were, so we "had a three-handed 
game of famnin' and hunting recollections of the old red and 
woolly days. We took a day to drive over to Wagon Wheel 
Gap, where Charley and I took a bath in 1878, and haven't taken 
one since. 

Society in the early days in the Valley was not so slow, 
either, if you please. At Alamosa especially we used to have 
our swell dances, of course there were no Clubs or Pink Teas, 
however. 

One of the young ladies just out from the east was quite 
active, both as a fashionable dresser and as a participant in all 
of the social functions. She had not been out from the east 
long and was considerably proud of her ancestry and rich rela- 
tives back there. 

It was noticed that she was continually shopping and in- 
quiring for expensive goods and clothing, and her penchant and 
desire, and specialty was silk underwear — so she said, well 
Johnny Gergeson had everything in his store except silk under- 
wear, and she was generally apparently disappointed that she 
was unable to procure just what she wanted in such a small 
town like Alamosa. 

A big dance was announced and as usual the young lady, all 
bedecked and bedolled was in fine fetter and was going to show 
us old hard boils how they did things in the east. The dance 
warmed up and was going at a fast and furious rate, and as 
Charley Sirmgo, an old time Cow Puncher in the Texas Pan 
Handle, now of Sante Fe, recites in one of his songs, 

Saloot yer lovely critters; 

Now swing and let 'em go ; 

Climb the grapevine round 'era; 
Now all hands do-ce-do? 

You maverick, jine the roundup, 
Jes skip the waterfall," 

Huh? hit was getting active, 

The Cow Boy's Christmas Ball. 

Finally in order to create one lasting impression she took 
out on the floor a particularly energetic and swell dancing Cow 
Boy, but in some unaccountable way things did not break just 
right and owing to the splinters in the floor being a little rough 
she ungracefully tripped and fell, accidentally her clothing be- 
came a little disarranged and on some parts of the exposed pet- 
icoats, could be read in bold type "The Pride of Denver," this 
was a popular brand of flour, in those days, which was packed 
in cotton sacks. 

At Alamosa, the old cow town, there was a famous and 
well known boarding house keeper of the Irish persuasion. 
When one would go to her table the invariable question from 
the lady waiter would be "Tay or Coffee?" If you said "Tay", 
she would say, "Well, you'll take coffee, we have no Tay." 

With most of the kick taken out of the ancient rodeo, we 
still have a hankering to mingle with the boys and listen to 
their talk it harks me back to when we were not particular as to 
our looks and when the boys took everything rough and the 
bronchos bucked harder and when the long horns could run 
faster and when the cow man took it straight — no sundaes or 
soda water then, 

73 



Every two years Charley Shideler sends me a little sprig: 
of sage brush and upon receipt of same I silently and quickly 
pack my grip and go to him where he sings me new songs and 
tells me new stories. The end of the trail is approaching and 
should there be a place in Heaven for such as we, we pray God 
to temper his mercy and let up pass to the great eternal range 
of eternal good grass. 

And then the lonely traveler, 
When passing to his grave, 

Will shed a farewell tear 

Over the bravest of the brave; 

And he'll go no more a ranging, 
The savage to affright; 

He has heard his last war whoop 

And fought his last fight. 

GEORGE ADAMS 

We have borrowed baking powder from George Adams at 
his ranch north of the Star Ranch in the San Luis valley. 
Adams was one of the first men to take up the fancy breeding 
of pure Herefords in the west, and who has since built a hotel 
and I think a theater under his name in the city of Denver, 
Colorado. 

NOT AFRAID 

I have stood up, straight too, in front of a big Winchester 
rifle, with a barrel twenty feet long, at least it looked that 
long, with a determined man, a keen eye, and a nervous trigger 
finger behind it — and its a funny feeling too. You don't know 
whether to blubber or bluff. In this case my hands went up 
faster than an air plane, and I bellowed lustily "not to shoot." 
After explaining and re-explaining and explaining again that 
I was lost and was peaceably inclined and only hunting Ute 
Creek they released the tension somewhat by allowing me to 
depart. After I got some little ways away from that trouble- 
some and irritating scene I noticed that my boots were almost 
full of cold sweat so that I had to take them off and empty 
them. This distressing and horribly unfortunate misunder- 
standing took place at the Government Corral, connected with 
old Fort Garland — tbey were expecting horse thieves that eve 
and I suppose that I looked the part. 

JOHN CHIZUM OF THE PECOS 

Among some of the big characters that my partner has met 
was John Chizum, of the Pecos country New Mexico. My 
partner has told me that in meeting this man he always made 
you feel as if you were his long lost brother. He was said to 
have been one of the most enterprizing and thrifty cow men of 
his time. He also had the born instincts in all of the angles 
and twists of that business. I remember some ten of fifteen 
years ago to have read in the Saturday Evening Post, an article 
written by some one who was describing the instincts of cer- 
tain men, and as an illustration of how some men worked out 
their instincts to practical uses, related the following story — a 
true one, he claimed, of John's prowess. This is as I remember 
it: 

"It was in the fall of the year when the round-ups were 
gathering the beef cattle and grazing them along the trail 
towards the loading stations to be shipped to market. One of 

74 



John's beef nerds, composed of 1000 head of those clean limbed, 
wild-eyed, long-horned steers, ready for a fight or a run, started 
off with one of his best outfits. After they had been out two 
or three days the herd became very nervous, scarey and jumpy 
and would stampede every night, and after the foreman, his 
horses and men became worn out the boss sent one of the boys' 
back to the ranch to report the condition of things and to re- 
quest that John come out to the herd. John cranked up his 
one cylindered Bu (i)ck Board and hitched a couple of buck 
skin cayuses to it, and away he went across the plains, jump- 
ing the arroyos and hitting the hills in the high places. When 
he reached the herd in the evening he told them to bed the 
cattle down and directed the horse wrangler to bring in some 
horses. He saddled one and called for the foreman to follow. 
They rode around the herd, through it and across it. Nothing 
looked wrong. Finally John stopped in front of a steer and 
looked him in the eye. He seemed to have a suspicious look 
to John and seemed to assume the attitude that he was a per- 
fectly innocent and law abiding steer, and was playin' as 
though he hadn't done nothin'. John rode around him and 
again faced the steer and caught his eye and at once decided 
that that steer was not the quiet and peaceful individual that 
he pretended to be. He then called his foreman and said to 
him. 'Get that steer up and run him out of the herd and keep 
him out." This was done and the rest of the drive was made 
in peace. John's instinct was too much for a troublesome, 
trouble-making, long-horned steer." 

John Chizum was the very biggest cattle fiend in all of the 
Pecos Country. He owned thousands of cattle and was not 
particular whether they had his brand on or not. He ran big 
outfits and made big deals. Charley Seringo, now of Sante Fe, 
speaks of him in his Lone Star Cow Boy Book. He tells of the 
plans for the usual spring round-up and says : — 

"We laid up for a week to wait for John to organize the 
spring round-up on his 'Jingle Bob' range, containing sixty 
thousand cattle. During this time we attended dances on 
Pumpkin Row, where a bunch of Texan's had settled a few 
miles south of what is now Roswell City. At his home ranch, 
on south Spring River, Jno. had built a new frame dwelling, 
under which flowed a sparkling irrigation stream, to water the 
young orchard just planted. On the front of this new house 
we used to sit for hours talking to cattle King John Chizum. 
His whole heart seemed to be wrapped up in this large, young 
orchard. It is now the home of Herbert J. Hagerman hence 
Mr. Chizum planted the orchard and developed it for others to 
enjoy, as he died a few years later." 

John claimed to be the first man that ever crossed the 
staked plains with a herd of cattle. This was a stretch of 
desert ninety miles wide from the Pan Handle to the Pecos 
River, without water. He started from the East side of it with 
3400 cattle and a fine outfit of fifteen or twenty cow boys, mess 
wagons a plenty, and many extra horses in the rumuda. This 
Trail required at least four dry camps and he figured that it 
would take about four days to drive it, during which time the 
cattle would not have a drop of water. In order that the rid- 
ing ponies and cow boys could have water to drink he rigged a 

75 



Barrel on the front wheels of a wagon and filled it up when? 
they started. The second day out the team that was pulling 
the rig ran away anj. upset the water, the third day the Cow 
Punchers and horses, almost crazed for the want of water, 
began to desert him and as they each left the herd they re- 
marked, "they were going to water." They all left him eKcept 
one. The cattle were also getting in a desperate condition, 
becoming weary, blear eyed, and their tongues swollen, John 
and the one boy trying to control them. The fourth day some 
of the cow boys returned to the herd and said they could find 
some water holes in an arroyo, towards the river (Pecos). They 
pointed the leaders in the direction the cow boys indicated 
As th6 herd approached the anticipated region, the cattle all at 
once threw up their heads and commenced to run, they smelled 
the water, not however, the water in the arroyos, but the water 
in the Pecos river, miles and miles distant. The riders could 
hardly keep up with their tired and worn out horses. The 
herd finally reached the River banks, which were high, and 
John and his punchers had lost all control of these 3400 head of 
maddened cattle. They commenced to plunge off the high 
banks into the water, it being but a moment until there were 
mountains of cattle in places and hundreds were drowned. 
When he got the suivivors across and counted them he found 
he had lost seventeen hundred head. 

The Llano Estacado or Staked Plains, is described, briefly 
by some one who can paint descriptions well as follows: — 

"The breaks of the plains, corresponding to second valley 
prairie, incrusted with pure white gypsum, and mica, assuming 
many dazzeling shapes, remind one of the battlements of an 
old fort or castle, or the profile of a large city with its cathedral 
walls and varied habitations of the humble and princely of a 
hugh Metropolis. Romance lingers on the summit of these 
horizontal, fancifully shaped bluffs of the Llano Estacado, so 
called, and the dreamer or romancer would never exhaust his 
genius in painting vivid pictures of the imagination." 

We Sell Out. 

We concluded to sell the modest herd of cattle we owned 
in the San Luis valley and go to the Pan Handle of Texas, where 
we could flop our wings and have a little more room. Having 
done so, I took two of our best horses and started alone for that, 
the best cattle country that was known at that time. It was 
fool-hardy to undertake such a trip, but as they say it takes a 
fool for luck, I was fortunate enough not to be molested or de- 
tained, although I went through some places where they might 
have taken my horses away from me, called me a horse thief 
and strung me up to a large, tall and always handy cottonwood. 
I went through Costilla Pass and along the Vermejo River, 
Both sections looked particularly menacing. I followed the 
Cimmaron river where it was out of its banks and was over- 
flowing nearly all the country tributary to it. Dead cattle and 
horses were floating in it and drinking water was mighty 
scarce. I had nothing much to eat for two or three days, but 
had plenty of cigarettes to smoke. After leaving the Cim- 
maron my horses and I were pretty lonesome but grateful that 
we had not come into contact with Billy the Kid, who at that 
time was shooting everything up in New Mexico. When we 

76- 



left the breaks of the Cimmaron and struck east across the 
staked plains we met with many deceptive marages, making us 
believe that we were about to meet a horseman or some outfit 
perhaps, and making us see beautiful cities and wonderful 
castles, and magnificent bodies of water, lakes and rivers. This 
latter delusion was particulary distressing because water in 
the reality was very scarce. It would be forty or fifty miles 
from one water hole to another. We of course did not have 
many comforts at night, but with all that there was one mit- 
igating circumstance and that was the fact that there were no 
tiresome people around to keep us awake. We finally reached 
the mesa and from there the breaks of the Palo Duro without 
any serious mishaps, but considerably gaunted. 

Before we reached the Cimmaron River I had stopped at a 
little hamlet where tbere was but one store. The name of this 
place was Maxwell. Like a New Jersey Philosopher I provided 
for future wants by buying a dimes worth of cheese and crack- 
ers at this place.. The man in the store warned me against 
being run into and possibly captured by Billy the Kid, a notor- 
ious and wantom Killer, who might appear at any moment. 
Billy had some time before killed his two guards while a pris- 
oner at Cimmaron, New Mexico, and was again on the rampage. 
Maxwell was about thirty-five or forty miles north of Ft. Sum- 
ner, where finally, eventually and effectively Pat Garratt, John 
W. Poe and "Kip" McKinney put Billy out of business. This 
Maxwell Village was named after the great Maxwell Grant, 
since it was located near the center of it. The Maxwell Grant 
was one of the most extensive Grants in the west and was own- 
ed by Pete Maxwell, who married it, by getting a Spanish wife. 
It was at Maxwell's "Feudal Castle" that Garrett shot and kill- 
ed Billy the Kid. The following description of the Maxwell 
family and their grant appeared in the newspapers several 
years ago and is very interesting, reading as follows : — 

"This little mountain town of a few hundred inhabitants 
was once the headquarters of one of the greatest estates that 
ever belonged to one man in America — the famous Maxwell 
ranch — and the remains of the baronial dwelling from which it 
was administered, still stands here. 

"In old books you can find facts about the Maxwell ranch, 
and from old-timers hereabouts you can learn a good deal more. 
Indeed, there are few persons in this vicinity who can not tell 
you something either from hearsay or from first-hand knowledge 
about Maxwell and his doings. 

"But to the world at large he and his great estate are for- 
gotten. 

"And this is to be regretted, for it would be hard to find 
a more significant and dramatic passage in early southwestern 
history than the story of this bit of land. 

"Maxwell was really an absolute monarch, ruling over a 
domain larger than many of the states of the union, and several 
times as large as some European states that have flags and 
crowns. 

"Furthermore, he was evidently a born ruler and organizer, 
He was one of the first men to gather and hold land in the greaf 
southwestern wilderness, to organize and to make other men 
work for his profit. 

77 



*^'-j> 



"In a word he was one of the first American capitalists in 
the west. The establishment of his little kingdom marked the 
beginning of the transition from the pioneer days, when every- 
thing was free to everybody, to the system of private ownership 
upon which industrial America was built. 

"That whole transition was fought out; bloodily on this bit 
of soil. 

Missouri "Showed" 'Em. 

"Maxwell was a penniless and adventurous young man 
from Missouri who joined the Fremont expedition to the west. 
He was discharged and paid off at Taos, New Mexico, together 
with a number of others, one of whom was Kit Carson, the 
famous scout and Indian fighter. 

"Maxwell and Carson were friends as long as they both 
lived. 

"In Taos lived some old Spanish families who owned wide 
lands granted them by the Spanish king. They did little or 
nothing with these lands and had only the vaguest idea how 
much they owned. 

"In addition to their lands these Mexican dons had large 
families, including beautiful daughters. 

'Nearly all of the discharged members of the Fremont ex- 
pedition, Carson and Maxwell among them, promptly fell in 
love with senoritas, and both of these young adventurers were 
soon married. 

"Here the difference between them asserted itself. Car- 
son, a born fighter and wanderer, deposited his wife and family 
in an adobe house and left them there, while he went out to 
make a place for himself in history as an Indian fighter and ex- 
plorer. 

"He never gathered enough property to hamper his move- 
ments. But Maxwell took his bride, who was Luz Baubien 
before he married her, went across the mountains, and settled 
here on the Cimarron, which was within the Baubien and Mi- 
randa grant. 

"The Spanish owners had done little with this great piece 
of land. It was a rugged wilderness filled with wild Indians; 
they preferred to stay in Taos. 

"But their Yankee son-in-law from Missouri proceeded to 
do much with it. He built a house, he brought in sheep and 
cattle, he planted corn and wheat. 

"He did not heroically fight the savages, either; he made 
friends with them. Thus he displayed one of the first prin- 
ciples of capitalism which is never to compete when you can 
co-operate. 

A Stroke Of Genius. 

"His greatest stroke of commercial genius came later when 
New Mexico was being surveyed by a government surveyor- 
general. The deputy surveyors were paid by the mile of line 
they ran. 

"It was therefore to their advantage to survey as many 
miles as possible. The boundaries of the Baubien and Mi- 
randa grant, of which Maxwell had now by purchase and in- 
heritance become sole owner, were vaguely defined by natural 
landmarks. 

"The surveyors were easily persuaded to choose landmarks 

78 



which allowed for a very liberal grant, in fact, astonishingly 
liberal. Most of the Spanish grants were about 100,000 acres 
each, and there seems to have been some Spanish law limiting 
them to that extent. 

"Maxwell managed to have included within the boundaries 
of his grant about 2,000,000 acres, and his right to this enor- 
mous territory was confirmed by congress. 

"Thus he came into possession of an estate about sixty 
miles long and thirty miles wide, including some of the best 
cattle range in the state, several fine arable valleys, and a sec- 
tion of high mountain range where were gold, coal and other 
minerals, and fine forests of pine and spruce. 

"Game abounded, and the streams swarmed with trout. 
Here, truly, was a domain worth owning. 

"Maxwell was at the height of his glory as a land baron 
about the year 1867. He had a great house which must have 
contained about forty rooms, for less than half of it stands now, 
and that part contains nineteen rooms. 

"And this was no crude pioneer dwelling. The walls were 
tastefully papered, and it is said, elaborately furnished. Max- 
well had 500 men working for him. He had thounsands of 
sheep, cattle and horses, a flour mill and a sawmill. He was 
Indian agent for several tribes, and this gave him the right to 
have a troop of cavalry on his place, so that he may be said to 
have had a standing army. 

Money To Burn. 

"He kept a free dining room where anyone might come and 
eat, but none was allowed to pay. In fact, he dispensed a 
practically unlimited hospitality. 

"Once a young Englishman passing through the country 
inquired of a man sitting on the front porch of the ranch house 
where he would find Maxwell, so that he might pay for his 
breakfast. This man was a rough-looking fellow, dressed in 
dirty breeches and riding boots and a bright red shirt which 
was open at the neck to display a flourishing growth of coal 
black hair, of which its owner was evidently very proud. The 
man had long black mustaches and smoked a short cuddy pipe. 

"This uncouth individual responded, to the amazement of 
the visitor, that he was Maxwell, but that no one paid him for 
meals. 

"The young Englishman insisted on paying, and Maxwell 
steadily refused. Finally, however, he yielded to the im- 
portunities of the stranger and said that the price of the break- 
fast was $25. 

"Now the Englishman backed water. He would pay no 
such price for a meal. Maxwell let a whoop and a large red- 
haired cowboy, about six feet four inches tall, appeared on the 
scene. 

"Rope this son-of-a-gun and choke him till he gives up 
twenty-five bucks," ordered the King of Cimarron. 

The next moment the young Englishman felt a strand of 
rawhide close about his neck and at the same time he dived 
into his pocket and brought forth the desired amount in bills, 
which he chokingly tendered to his host. 

"With a gesture of incomparable grandeur, Maxwell touch- 
ed a match to the money and lit his pipe at the flames, the! 

79 



tossed the charred remains away. The incident was closed. 

"Such was one of America's earliest plutocrats." 

Billy the Kid was such an atrocious and uncompromising, 
cowardly murderer that it affords one a great deal of pleasure 
to print the account of his being killed and one can at last real- 
ize that he is dead enough to stay dead. John W. Poe, now of 
Roswell, New Mexico, a banker, tells his story to E. M. Dealy, 
of the Dallas News, who wrote it up and published it. 

I have a recent letter from Mr. Poe which verifys the story 
of the killing in all respects. He writes as follows: — 

Roswell, New Mexico. 

Dated Dec. 28, 1921, and addressed, 0. S. Clark, Attica, 
Ind., quoting it as follows : — 

"Yes, I knew Clay Allison very well, first in the Pan Handle 
country when he was ranching near Mobettie and later here 
in New Mexico after his marriage. If I had the time I could 
tell you a few stories about him that would be more or less in- 
teresting. Allison was a very brave man with many fine quali- 
ties as well as some that were not altogether admirable. 

"He was accidently killed about one hundred miles south 
of here in 1884 or 1885. 

"I note that you have read Mr. Dealy's account of the kill- 
ing of "Billy the Kid", practically all of the data for which was 
furnished him by me, and which I wrote at the solicitation of 
friends some five years ago. 

"I came to New Mexico early in 1881, and consequently did 
not known many characters who came to the Pan Handle after 
that date. However I knew most of those who were about old 
Tascosa during the years 1879 and 1880, as I had occasion to go 
there at numerous times, my head quarters then being at Mo- 
beetie. (Mr. Poe was an officer of some kind at that time.) If 
you ever have occasion to come to these parts and will call on 
me, I will be glad to give you any information I can about any 
of these old time characters that I knew. John W. Poe." 

His account of the killing was a thriller and is herewith 
printed as it was authentically published in the papers a num- 
ber of years ago, Mr. Poe tells the Story as follows : — 

"I was somewhat skeptical as to the correctness of this in- 
formation as it seemed almost unbelievable that the Kid, after 
nearly three months had elapsed from the time of his escape, 
with a price on his head and under sentence of death, would 
still be lingering in the country. However, in view of the fact 
that the Kid had many friends and sympathizers who looked 
upon him as a hero and who would probably shelter and pro- 
tect him, I came to the conclusion that there was possibly 
truth in the story which had been told me and immediately 
went to the county seat where I laid the matter before the 
Sheriff as it had been told me. 

"The Sheriff was much more skeptical as to the truth of 
the story than I was: said he could not believe there was any 
truth in what the Whiteoaks individual had told me, but finally 
said that if I desired it he and I would go to Roswell where we 
would find one of his deputies named McKinney and from there 
the three of us would go to Fort Sumner with the determination 
of unearthing the Kid if he was there. This was agreed upon 
and the following day we went to Roswell, where we found Mc- 

80 



Kinney, who expressed his disbelief in the Whiteoaks story but 
willingly joined in with us for the expedition to Fort Sumner, 
which place is some eighty miles distant from Roswell. 
The Man Hunt. 

"After a few hours spent in Roswell in arranging for the 
trip we started about sundown, riding out of town in a different 
direction from that which we intended to travel later, as it was 
absolutely necessary to keep the public in ignorance of our 
plans if anything was to be accomplished. After we were well 
out of the settlements we changed our course and rode in the 
direction of Fort Sumner until about midnight, when we stop- 
ped, picketed our horses and slept on our saddle blankets for the 
remainder of the night. The next day we rode some fifty or 
fifty-five miles, halting late in the evening at a point in the sand 
hills some five or six miles out from Fort Sumner, where we 
again picketed our horses and slept until morning. 

"It was here agreed that, inasmuch as I was not known in 
Fort Sumner, while the other two men were, Garrett having a 
year or two previous resided there, that I should ride into the 
place with the object of reconnoitering the ground and getting 
such information as was possible that might aid us in our pur- 
pose, while the other two men were to remain out of sight in 
the sand hills for the day and in case of my failing to return to 
them before night, were to meet me after darkness came on at 
a certain point agreed on, some four miles out from Fort Sum- 
ner. In pursuance of this plan I next morning left my com- 
panions and rode into town, where I arrived about 10 o'clock. 
Fort Sumner in 1881. 

"Fort Sumner at that time had a population of only some 
two or three hundred people, nearly all of whom were natives 
or Mexicans, there being perhaps not more than one or two 
dozen Americans in the place, a majority of whom were tough 
or undesirable characters. A majority of the entire popula- 
tion were in sympathy with the Kid, while the remainder were 
in terror of him. 

"When I entered the town I noticed I was being watched 
from every side, and soon after I had stopped and hitched my 
horse in front of a store which had a saloon annex a number of 
men gathered around me and began to question me as to where 
I was from, whither I was bound, etc. I answered with as 
plausible a yarn as I was able, telling them that I was from 
Whiteoaks, where I had been engaged in mining, and was on my 
way to the Panhandle, where I had formerly lived. This story 
seemed to allay their suspicions to some extent and I was in- 
vited to join in a social drink at the saloon, which I did, being 
very careful that I absorbed only a very small quantity of the 
liquor. This operation was repeated several times, as was the 
custom in those days, after which I went to a near-by restau- 
rant for something to eat, as I was by this time beginning to 
realize that I was getting hungry, having been on very short 
rations for several days. 

Suspicious of Poe. 

"After I had gotten a square meal I loitered about the vil- 
lage for some hours, chatting casually with the people I met in 
hope of learning something definite as to whether or not the 
Kid was there or had recently been there, but was unable to 

81 



learn anything further than that the people with whom I con- 
versed were still suspicious of me and that it was plain that 
many of them were on the alert, expecting something to happen. 
In fact, there was a very tense situation in Fort Sumner that 
day, as the Kid was at that time hiding in one of the native 
houses there, and if the object of my visit had become known I 
would have stood no chance for my life whatever. 

"It was understood when I left my companions in the morn- 
ing that in case of my being unable to secure definite informa- 
tion in Fort Sumner as to the object of our visit I was to go to 
the ranch of a Mr. Rudolph (an acquaintance and friend of 
Garrett's), whose ranch was located some seven miles north of 
Sumner at a place called 'Sunnyside,' with the purpose of se- 
curing from him, if possible, some information as to the where- 
abouts of the man we were after. 

"Mr. Poe spent the afternoon with Mr. Rudolph but was 
unable to secure any information from him as to the where- 
abouts of the Kid. About dark, therefore, he saddled up and 
rode directly to the point where he had agreed to meet Garrett 
and McKinney. 

"We here held a consultation," continues Mr. Poe, "as to 
what further course we should pursue. I had spent the day in 
endeavoring to hear something definite of the whereabouts of 
the man we wanted, without success, except from the actions 
of the people I met at Fort Summer. I was more firmly con- 
vinced than before tJiat our man was in that vicinity. 
In Wait for the Outlaw. 

"Mr. Garrett seemed to have but little confidence in our 
being able to accomplish the object of our trip but said that he 
knew the location of a certain house occupied by a woman in 
Fort Sumner which the Kid had formerly frequented; that if 
he was in or about Fort Sumner he would most likely be found 
entering or leaving this house sometime during the night, and 
proposed that we go into a grove of trees near the town, con- 
ceal our horses, then station ourselves in the peach orchard at 
the rear of the house in question and then keep watch on who 
might come or go. This course was agreed upon and we enter- 
ed the peach orchard at about 9 o'clock that night, stationing 
ourselves in the gloom or shadow of the peach trees, as the 
moon was shining brightly. 

"We kept up a fruitless watch here until some time after 
11 o'clock, when Mr. Garrett stated that he believed we were on 
a cold trail ; that he had very little faith in our being able to 
accomplish anything when we started on the trip, and proposed 
that we leave the town without letting the people know that we 
had been there in search of the Kid. I proposed that, before 
leaving we should go to the residence of Peter Maxwell, a man 
who, up to that time, I had never seen, but who, by reputation, 
I knew to be a man of considerable wealth and influence, and 
who, by reason of his being a leading citizen and having large 
property intertests should, according to my reasoning, aid us in 
ridding the country of a man who was looked upon as a scourge 
and a curse by all law-abiding people. 

Search at Maxwell's House. 

"Garrett agreed to this and thereupon led us from the 
orchard by circuitous by-paths to Maxwell's residence, which 

82 



was a building formerly used as officers' quarters during the 
days when a garrison of troops had been maintained at the Fort. 

"Upon our arrival at the residence (a very long, one-story 
adobe building standing end to and flush with the street, hav- 
ing a porch on the south side which was the direction from 
which we approached, the premises all being inclosed by a pal- 
ing fence, one side of which ran parallel to and along the edge 
of the street up to and across the end of the porch to the corner 
of the building) Garrett said to me: 'This is Maxwell's room in 
the corner; you fellows wait here while I go in and talk with 
him.' and thereupon he stepped onto the porch and entered Max- 
well's room through the open door (left open on account of ex- 
tremely warm weather), while the other two of us stopped on 
the outside, McKinney squatting on the outside of the paling 
fence and I sitting on the edge of the porch in the small, open 
gateway leading from the street onto the porch. 
Billy the Kid Appears. 

"It should be mentioned here that, up to this moment, I had 
never seen either Billy the Kid or Maxwell, which fact, in view 
of the events transpiring immediately afterward, placed me at 
an extreme disadvantage. It was probably not more than 
thirty seconds after Garrett had entered Maxwell's room when 
my attention was attracted from where I sat in the little gate- 
way to a man approaching me on the inside of and along the 
fence some forty or fifty steps away. I noticed that he was 
only partially dressed, was both bareheaded and barefooted, 
or rather had nothing but sox on his feet, and, as it seemed to 
me, was fastening his trousers as he came toward me in a very 
brisk walk. 

"Quien Es?" 

"As Maxwell's was the one place in Fort Sumner that I 
had considered above suspicion of harboring the Kid, I was en- 
tirely off my guard, the thought that came to my mind being 
that the man approaching was either Maxwell himself or some 
guest of his who had occasion to go to the rear of the premises 
during the night. He came on until he was almost within 
arm's length of where I sat before he saw me, as I was parti- 
ally concealed from his view by the post of the gate. Upon 
his seeing me, he, as quick as lightning, covered me with his 
six-shooter, sprang onto the porch and called out in Spanish, 
'Quien es' (Who is it?), and backing away from me toward the 
door through which Garrett only a few moments before had 
passed, repeating his query, 'Who is it?' several times in Span- 
ish. 

Shots Inside the Room. 

"At this I stood up from where I had been seated, stepped 
onto the porch and advanced toward him, telling him not to be 
alarmed — that he should not be hurt, still without the least 
suspicion that this was the man we were looking for. As I 
moved toward him, trying to reassure him, he backed up into 
the doorway of Maxwell's room, where he halted for a moment, 
his body concealed by the thick adobe wall at the side of the 
doorway, put his head out and asked in Spanish for the fourth 
or fifth time who I was. I was within a few feet of him when 
he disappeared into the room. After this until after the shoot- 
ing I was unable to see what took place on account of the dark- 

83 



ness of the room but plainly heard what was said on the inside. 

"An instant after this man left the door I heard a voice 
inquire in a sharp tone, 'Pete, who are those fellows on the out- 
side ' An instant later a shot was fired in the room followed 
immediately by what everyone within hearing thought was two 
other shots. However, there were only two shots fired, the 
third report, as we learned afterward, being caused by the re- 
bound of the second, bullet which had struck the adobe wall 
and rebounded against the headboard of the wooden bedstead. 
The Kid Is Killed. 

"I heard a groan and one or two gasps as of someone dying 
in the room. An instant later Garrett came out, brushing a- 
gainst me as he passed, stood by me close to the wall at the side 
of the door and said to me. 'That was the Kid that came in 
there onto me and I think I've got him.' I said, 'Pat, the Kid 
would not come to this place. You have shot the wrong man.' 
Upon my saying this Garrett seemed for a moment to be in 
doubt himself as to whom he had shot, but quickly spoke up 
and said, 'I am sure that was him for I know his voice too well 
to be mistaken.' This remark of Garrett's relieved me of con- 
siderable apprehenson, as I had felt almost certain that some- 
one whom we did not want had been killed. 

"A moment after Garrett came out of the door Pete Max- 
well rushed squarely onto me in a frantic effort to get out of 
the room and I certainly would have shot him but for Garrett 
striking my gun down, saying, 'Don't shoot Maxwell!' 

"I have ever since felt grateful that I did not shoot Max- 
well' for, as I learned afterward, he was at heart a well mean- 
ing, inoffensive and very timid man. We afterward learned 
that the Kid had frequently been at this house after his escape 
from Lincoln but Maxwell stood in such terror of him that he 
did not dare inform against him. 

End of a Bloody Desperado. 

"By this time all was quiet within the room and as on ac- 
count of the darkness we were unable to see what the condi- 
tions were inside or what the result of the shooting had been, 
we, after some rather forceful persuasion, induced Maxwell to 
procure a light, which he finally did by bringing an old-fash- 
ioned tallow candle from his mother's room at the further end 
of the building, passing by the rear end, where the shooting oc- 
curred, and placing the candle on the window sill from the out- 
side. This enabled us to get a view of the inside where we saw 
a man lying stretched upon his back dead in the middle of the 
room with a six-shooter lying at his right hand and a butcher 
knife at his left. Upon our examining the body we found it to 
be that of Billy the Kid. Garrett's first shot had penetrated 
his breast just above the heart, thus ending the career of a 
desperado who, whilo only about 23 years of age at the time of 
his death, had killed a greater number of men than any of the 
many desperadoes and killers I have known or heard of during 
the forty-five years I have been in the Southwest. 

"Within a very short time after the shooting quite a num- 
ber of the native people had gathered around, some of them be- 
wailing the death of their friend, while several of the women 
pleaded for permission to take charge of the body, which we 
allowed them to do, they carrying it across the yard to a car- 

84 



center shop, where it was laid out on a work bench, the women 
placing burning candles around it, according to their ideas of 
properly conducting a wake for the dead. 

What Happened in Maxwell's Room. 
"All that occurred after the Kid came into view in the yard 
up to the time he was killed happened in much less time than it 
takes to tell it, not more than thirty seconds intervening be- 
tween the time I first saw him and the time he was shot. From 
Garrett's statement of what took place in the room after he 
entered it, appears that, leaving his Winchester standing by 
the side of the door, he approached the bed where Maxwell was 
sleeping, arousing him and sitting down on the edge of the bed 
near the head. A moment later after he had taken this posi- 
tion for a talk with Maxwell, he heard voices on the porch and 
sat quietly listening when a man came into the doorway and a 
moment later ran up to Maxwell's bed saying, 'Pete, who are 
those fellows outside?' It being dark in the room he had not 
up to now seen Garrett sitting at the head of the bed. When 
lie spoke to Maxwell Garrett recognized the voice and made a 
move to draw his six-shooter. This movement attracted the 
Kid's attention, who, seeing that a man was sitting there, in- 
stantly covered him with his six-shooter, backing away and de- 
manding several times in Spanish to know who it was. Gar- 
rett made no reply and, without rising from where he was sit- 
ting, fired with the result stated. This occurred on the night 
of July 14, 1881, about midnight. 

'We spent the remainder of the night on the Maxwell 
premises, keeping constantly on our guard, as we were expect- 
ing to be attacked bv the friends of the man killed. Nothing 
of the kind occurred, however. The next morning we sent for 
a Justice of the Peace, who held an inquest over the body, the 
verdict of the jury being such as to justify the killing, and later 
on the same day the body was buried in the old military bury- 
ing ground at Port Sumner. 

Many Wild Stories. 
"There have been many wild and untrue stories told of this 
affair, one of which was that we bad in some way learned in 
advance that the Kid would come to Maxwell's residence that 
night and had concealed ourselves there with the purpose of 
waylaying and killing him. Another was that we had cut off 
his' fingers and carried them away as trophies or souvenirs, and 
of later years it has been said many times that the Kid was not 
dead at all, but had been seen alive and well in various places. 
The actual facts, however, are exactly as herein stated and 
while we no doubt would under the circumstances, have laid in 
wait for him at the Maxwell premises if there had been the 
slightest reason for our believing that he would come there, the 
fact that he would come there, the fact that he came was a 
complete surprise to us, absolutely unexpected and unlooked 
for so far as we three were concerned. The story that we had 
cut off and carried away his fingers was even more absurd, as 
the thought of such never entered our minds, and besides, we 
were not that kind of people. 

"The killing of the Kid created a great sensation through- 
out the Southwest and many of the law abiding citizens of New 
Mexico and the Panhandle contributed spontaneously and liber- 



ally toward a reward for the officers whose work had finally 
rid the country of a man who was nothing less than a scourge. 
"The taking off of the Kid had a very salutary effect in 
New Mexico and the Panhandle, most of his remaining follow- 
ers leaving the country for the time being, at least, and a great 
many people who had sympathized with or had been terrorized 
by him completely changed their attitudes toward the enforce- 
ment of the law. 

Why Didn't the Outlaw Shoot? 

"The events which transpired at Maxwell's residence on 
the night of that 14th of July to this day seem to me strange 
and mysterious, as the Kid was certainly a killer, was absolute- 
ly desperate and had 'the drop' first on me and then on Garrett. 
Why did he not use it? Possibly he thought that he was in the 
house of friends and had no suspicion that the officers of the 
law would ever come to that place searching for him. From 
what we learned afterward there was some reason for believ- 
ing that we had been seen leaving the peach orchard by one of 
his friends, who ran to the house where he was stopping for 
the night, warning him of our presence and upon thinking that 
by reason of the standing of the Maxwell family he would not 
be sought for there. However this may be, it is still, in view 
of his character and the condition he was in, a mystery. 

"I have been in many close places and through many try- 
ing experiences, both before and after this occurrence, but 
never one where I was so forcibly impressed with the idea that 
a higher power controls and rules the destinies of men. To 
me it seemed that what occurred in Fort Sumner on that night 
had actually been foreordained." 

Career of John W. Poe. 

John W. Poe was born in Mason County, Ky., on the 17th of 
October, 1850. He came west to Kansas City in 1869 and to 
Texas in 1872. 

For several years after his arrival in Texas he lived near 
old Fort Griffin, serving part of that time as City Marshal of 
Fort Griffin. The remainder of the time he worked with cattle 
and hunted buffaloes. 

In 1879 he moved to Mobeetie, then the only town in the 
Panhandle of Texas with the exception of Tascosa, and there 
served as Deputy United States Marshal and Deputy Sheriff 
until the spring of :881. 

In 1881 he was employed by the Canadian River Cattle As- 
sociation to go to New Mexico and hunt cattle thieves. It was 
while in this service that he assisted in "getting" Billy the Kid, 
as has been recounted in the foregoing paragraphs. 

In 1882 he was elected Sheriff of Lincoln County, N. M,, 
and served in this capacity until 1886. At the expiration of 
his second term as Sheriff he settled at Roswell, where he has 
ever since been engaged in the banking business. In 1900 and 
1901 Mr. Poe served as a member of the Territorial Board of 
Equalization and in 1915-16 he served as a member of the State 
Tax Commission. During the World War he acted as Federal 
Fuel Administrator for New Mexico. He has a host of friends 
in New Mexico, Texas and all over the West. 

86 



OUR NEW LOCATION 

We located our modest dobe shack, on the Palo Duro, 165 
miles from the railroad or Dodge City, in what is known as 
Hansford county, about thirty or forty miles south of what was 
called the Rifle Pits — so called from the fact that in the Indian 
war of '74 and '75 the soldiers made a stand at this place and 
dug-in. We were about fifty miles from Tascosa, where it was 
a poor Saturday if some cow puncher or bad man was not kill- 
ed. We were also about twenty-five miles from the Adobe 
Walls where the famous Indian battle of '74 was fought and 
about the same distance from the battlefield of Buffalo Wallow 
-where Billie Dixon also saved the day. During that year and 
a year previously the Indian outbreak was so acute and serious 
that it was apparent that it would be impossible for the sol- 
diers to handle it alone so it was decided to enlist the services 
of the cow men and buffalo hunters. They organized and 
oroke for the Adobe Walls where they made a stand and were 
immediately besieged by the Red Skins. When the Indians 
had surrounded the fort they tried every way to get a foot-hold 
out the boys waited their opportunity and with plenty of can- 
non and rifles gave them several broadsides. It was said that 
they literally piled them up like cord-wood. This battle stop- 
ped any further uprisings. 

ADDENDUM TO THE LIFE OF BILLY DIXON. 

Without presuming that we could improve upon or add any 
particular historical facts, we have taken the liberty to write an 
additional preface or rather something that might be of some 
interest to readers of the life of Billy Dixon. These few com- 
ments, if of any interest or value, can be attached to or placed 
In the book containing the historical life of this pioneer, Billy 
Dixon. 

It seems almost like a dream to see in print a description 
of the scenes that we had the privilege of visiting and being 
associated with, and also reading of the character and exploits 
of some of the men we knew so well and others that we had 
heard of, and who were so necessary and essential to the de- 
velopment and history of the early days of Pan Handle life. Of 
course Billy Dixon was an "older timer" than we were and yet 
the scenes and some of the "Way Backs" were still there when 
we were residents of thereabouts. Throughout, the country 
"had commenced to take on a transitory period, gone were the 
large buffalo herds, and gone was the buffalo hunter's occupa- 
tion, and in their stead, the Cow Man, both little and big, was 
beginning to stock the ranges with the long horns from Old 
Mexico and from the Coast Country of Texas. Now comes the 
small farmer and stock man, and all the power under God's 
dome will not be able to move or displace this persistent and 
"stick tight" little "Nester". 

I sing to thee, pioneer, 

Whose manly strength without fear, 

And purpose firm in heaven's sight, 

Gives thee a place by crested knight, 

Or feuded lord o'er country side. 

Thou art the nation's honest pride! 

87 



noble, noble pioneer f 

We give thee honor now and here", 

In this, our middle west, a part, 

Thanks comes to thee from every heart, 

In words of love and hope and cheer. 
All hail Our noble pioneer! 

There were a few scattering small bunches of buffalo at 
that time, in 1880, and we had the privilege and honor, and not 
much honor at that, of helping to slaughter the last small herd 
of buffalo that was ever seen in the Texas Pan Handle. This- 
occurred at a stopping place on the Cimaroon River, in No 
Man's Land. This place was run by two old Buffalo Hunters 

by the names of Rob Ray and Crawford. The latter had 

at some time had his toes frozen off, but he could sure shoot 
some just the same. There were eleven in the herd and they 
got them all. We hauled the meat to Dodge City. I was a 
little disappointed in reading the description of the Adobe 
Walls' fight not to have seen the names of these two intrepid 
Buffalo hunters mentioned as they were no doubt in that part 
of the country at the time of the battle and were a part of the 
Buffalo History of that section and would have been a help to 
the little band who were besieged. 

One of our partners, Sam Hannah, now of Howard, Kan., 
was fortunate enough to meet and become acquainted with Billy 
Dixon at Canadian, Tex., although there is no definite state- 
ment of the year. 

He tells us that his recollections of Billy Dixon showed 
that he was greatly impressed by his make-up as a man, who 
was a famous buffalo hunter, an uncanny scout and soldier, a 
sagacious Indian fighter, and a resourceful Cow Man, a quiet* 
unassuming character, which trait is always indicative of a 
brave and honorable man. 

We can not help but have a sort of a relationship feeling 
for such characters as Billy Dixon as we read his history, for 
the reason, of course, that we have lived and trailed and rode 
and camped in all the rim rocks and on all of the mesa's, and 
on all of this hallowed ground that this man practically made 
safe for the inevitable coming of the new civilization. 

We notice, of course, that he was a prototype, and a 
worthy follower, and a man as brave and true as the wonderful 
Buffalo Bill, and it is fitting at this time to say that we also have 
the same close feeling towards this true Knight of the western 
plains from the fact that my father and his father before him 
were among the thousands of eager and hopeful travelers who 
were reaching out for that Star of the Western Empire, and 
seeking the golden glows on the American Fork in '49 and '50. 
This period was a little ahead of Buffalo Bill's time, but shortly 
afterward he too made it safe for these gold fever stricken ad- 
venturers who were going to Pike's Peak or "bust". My fath- 
er's father was one of the many who returned from this land of 
promise empty handed. 

In traveling over and along the present Union Pacific rail- 
road, it's understoqd that this iron trail marks the old Cali- 
fornia trail. It's with a feeling of awe and reverence that we 
pass over this prehistoric ground and realize that we, my father 



•and nis father, had passed along that old trail from the Miss- 
ouri River, through the beautiful Platte River Valley, Jules- 
"burg, Fort Laramie, Salt Lake City and on to the placers of 
California. We have a letter written by one of that party, 
posted at Fort Laramie, which expresses their buoyant feelings 
in the highest degree. It says, "We are safe so far, and we are 
'ever traveling westward full of hope and expectancy. There 
are thousands ahead of us and tens of thousands behind us." 
But alas, there were some in this party who never reached the 
banks of the Wabash again. 

When we had reached the Palo Duro (hardwood), one hun- 
dred and sixty-five miles from the railroad, and a good ways for 
a tender foot to be from civilization, the most of the big cattle 
fellows had established their ranges and ranches, and the little 
fellows were taking the leavings (we were of this class). We 
"knew, or had heard, of the the most of the big fellows, such as 
Charles Goodnight, on the Canadian (the Mexicans call him 
Char Les Goodnightie), Doc Day on the Wolf Creek, Col. 
Slaughter on Cold Water, Col. Littlefield, Jack Hardesty and 
others; and we must mention Clay Allison of the Washita, who 
was first a Cow Man and then a killer of bad men, a true knight, 
a brave man and one that was necessary to rid the country of 
many undesirables. 

We note with a great deal of interest Billy Dixon's de- 
scription of Buffalo Springs. On one of our trips, my partner, 
Charley Shideler, and I left the Palo Duro with some saddle 
horses and struck for the San Luis Valley of Colorado where 
we had a small hunch of cattle to be rounded up and sold or 
driven to the Pan Handle. We passed through what Billy calls 
the Buffalo Springs (we knew it then as Buffalo Gap), and it 
was a veritable Gap, because as one came out of the broken and 
rough country back in New Mexico, this Gap seemed to be the 
place for entering the broad prairies, the staked plains of north 
Texas. His description covers this scene nicely with one ex- 
ception, and after forty years has elapsed, my mind pictures a 
one roomed, good sized stone building, a substantial and well 
preserved structure, a description of which he has omitted. 
This house served as a good defense in case of an Indian attack 
and no doubt was built by Buffalo Hunters, either Mexican or 
Americans, as the surrounding grounds, dotted here^ and there 
with many water holes, were completely covered with huffalo 
hones. 

Billy's history of the fight at the Adobe Wall must of 
course be true, hut he does not enlarge or give any inside his- 
tory, of the conditions and causes for the buffalo hunters and 
cow men having to take such a prominent part in subduing the 
Red Skins at that period. We fellows had understood that 
really the soldiers, at that time, and previously, had endeavored 
to put down these Indian raids but had failed and realized that 
the Reds were a little too much for them, so that the authori- 
ties finally called out the buffalo hunters and cow men to as- 
sist them. 

Just north of our ranch, on the main freight and mail trail 
from Dodge, was a place called Rifle Pits. These were pits 
placed there by the soldiers, where they "dug in", but we never 
learned of there being much of a fight at that point 



To my mind Billy's description of the Buffalo Wallow fight 
was the most thrilling and showed more of a desperate condi- 
tion of affairs than the battle of Adobe Walls. At this place 
they were literally trapped in open ground, and had to take it in 
the open until they were able to get a little bit of cover in a 
wallow. There were less men and he had nearly as many 
wounded and killed to take care of, so that he was short-hand- 
ed, but like all of the resourceful fellows of the time he and his 
little band were victorious. 

We were greatly pleased to read Dixon's tribute to the 
Cator Boys, sturdy English men, Bob and Jim. The Cators 
lived just south of us on the adjoining ranch, and on the Palo 
Duro. We were neighbors and friends, staunch and true. Of 
late years we have made frequent inquiry concerning the loca- 
tion and later history of these indomitable and necessary people 
to the taming and future development of the great way, but 
were always unable to locate them. 

In conclusion I will coincide and agree with Billy in his. 
comments concerning the feelings of some who have had their 
experiences in the West, and who have afterwards "gone back" 
by shunning and forgetting their old stamping grounds. (He 
refers to Bat Masterson.) 

I may be a little bit sentimental myself, but when that pe- 
culiar western brash breaks out on me, and I hear the call of 
those broad billowy prairies, and feel the beckon of those shel- 
tering crags in the grand old snow capped and timber lined 
mountains and catch the aromatic scent of the scraggly sage 
brush I silently, secretly and reverently pack my grip and sneak 
out with my face westward Ho, and when I shall have reached 
the "home ranch", I revel with the Cow Man, as he teaches me 
new tricks in cow punching, tells me new stories, and sings me 
new songs. When I have reached the stage that the little boy 
at the public Thanksgiving Day dinner table did when he was 
asked to have more turkey, and replied. "No more, mister, I can 
chaw but I can't swallow," then I will have had my little sat- 
isfying rest and vacation, and I will be perfectly willing to 
come back to that place which the Easterner calls the true 
civilization and still continue to make a modest living selling 
money through the grill of a bank window. 
Across the world the ceaseless march of men 

Has been through smouldering fires, left by the bold„ 
Who first beyond the guarded outposts ran 

And saw with wondering eyes, new lands unrolled,. 
Who built the hut in which the home began 

And around a camp-fire's ashes broke the mold. 

Meredith Nicholson. 

It will be interesting to the readers to have Billy Dixon's 
detailed account of this battle and with the permission of his 
wife, Mrs. Olive Dixon, I am privileged to use it. It's told by 
Billie before he died. 

THE ADOBE WALLS BATTLE JUNE, 1874. 
By Billy Dixon. 

"The night was sultry and we sat with open doors. In all 
that vast wilderness, ours were the only lights save the stars 
that glittered above us. There was just a handful of us out 

90 



there on the Plains, each bound to the other by the common tie 
of standing together in the face of any danger that threatened 
us. It was a simple code, but about the best I know of. Out- 
side could be heard at intervals the muffled sounds of the stock 
moving and stumbling around, or a picketed horse shaking him- 
self as he paused in his hunt for the young grass. In the 
timber along Adobe Walls Creek to the east owls were hooting. 
We paid no attention to these things, however, and in our fanc- 
ied security against all foes frolicked and had a general good 
time. Hanraran saloon did a thriving trade. 

"On that memorable night, June 26, 1874, there were 28 
men and one woman at the Walls. The woman was the wife 
of William Olds. She had come from Dodge City with her 
husband to open a restaurant in the rear of Rath & Wright's 
(Bob Wright — we knew Bob at Dodge in 1880) store. Only 
eight or nine of the men lived at the Walls, the others being 
buffalo-hunters who by chance happened to be there. There 
was not the slightest feeling of impending danger. 

"As was the custom in the buffalo country, most of the men 
made their beds outside on the ground. I spread my blankets 
near the blacksmith's shop, close to my wagon, I placed my gun 
by my side between my blankets, as usual, to protect it from 
dew and rain. A man's gun and his horse were his two most 
valuable possessions, next to life, in that country in those days. 

"Every door was left wide open, such a thing as locking a 
door being unheard of at the Walls. One by one the lights 
were turned out, the tired buffalo-hunters fell asleep, and the 
Walls were soon wrapped in the stillness of night. 

"Late that evening I had gone down on the creek and 
caught my saddle horse — a better one could not be found — and 
tied him with a long picket rope to a stake pin near my wagon. 

"About 2 o'clock in the morning Shepherd and Mike Welch 
were awakened by a report, that sounded like the crack of 
a rifle. They sprang up and discovered that the noise was 
caused by the big cottonwood ridge pole. 

"This ridge pole sustained the weight of the dirt roof, and 
If the pole should break the roof would collapse and fall in, to 
the injury or death of those inside. Welch and Shepherd woke 
up a number of their companions to help them repair the roof. 
Some climbed on top and began throwing off the dirt, while 
others went down to the creek to cut a prop for the ridge pole. 

"This commotion woke up others, and in a little while about 
fifteen men were helping repair the roof. Providential things 
usually are mysterious ; there has always been something mys- 
terious to me in the loud report 'that came from that ridge pole 
in Hanrahan's saloon. It seems strange that it should have 
happened at the very time it did, instead of at noon or some 
other hour, and, above all, that it should have been loud enough 
to wake men who were fast asleep. Twenty-eight men and one 
woman would have been slaughtered if the ridge pole in Han- 
rahan's saloon had not cracked like a riflle shot. 

"By the time we had put the prop in place, the sky was 
growing red in the east, and Hanrahan asked me if I did not 
think we might as well stay up and get an early start. I 
agreed, and he sent Billy Ogg down on the creek to get the 
horses. Some of the men, however, crawled back into bed. The 

9! 



horses were" grazing southeast of the buildings, along Adobe 
Walls. Creek, a quarter of a mile off. 

"Turning to my bed, I rolled it up and threw it on the front 
of my wagon. As I turned to pick up my gun, which lay ont 
the ground, I looked in the direction of our horses. They were 
in sight. Something else caught my eye. Just beyond the' 
horses, at the edge of some timber, was a large body of objects 
advancing vaguely in the dusky dawn toward our stock and in 
the direction of Adobe Walls. Though keen of vision, I could 
not make out what the objects were, even by straining my eyes. 

"Then I was thunderstruck. The black body of moving 
objects suddenly spread out like a fan, and from it went up one 
single, solid yell — a warwhoop that seemed to shake the very 
air of the early morning. Then came the thudding roar of 
running horses, and the hideous cries of the individual wor- 
riors, each embarked in the onslaught. I could see that hun- 
dreds of Indians were coming. Had it not been for the ridge 
pole, all of us would have been asleep. 

"In such desperate emergencies, men exert themselves al- 
most automatically to do the needful thing. There is no time 
to make conscious effort, and if a man lose his head, he shakes 
hands with death. 

"I made a dash for my saddle horse, my first thought being 
to save him. I never thought for an instant that the oncoming 
Indians were intending an attack upon the buildings, their pur- 
pose being, as I thought, to run off our stock, which they could 
easily have done by driving it ahead of them. I overlooked the 
number of Indians, however, or else I might have formed a dif- 
ferent opinion. 

"The first mighty warwhoop had frightened my horse un- 
til he was frantic. He was running and lunging on his rope 
so violently that in one more run he would have pulled up the 
stake pin and gone to the land of stampeded horses. I man- 
aged to grab the rope, and tie my horse to my wagon. 

"I then rushed for my gun, and turned to get a few good 
shots before the Indians could turn to run away. I started to 
run forward a few steps. Indians running away! They were 
coming as straight as a bullet toward the buildings, whipping 
their horses at every jump. 

"There was never a more splendidly barbaric sight. In 
after years I was glad that I had seen it. Hundreds of wor- 
riors, the flower of the fighting men of the southwestern Plains 
tribes, mounted upon their finest horses, armed with guns and 
lances, and carrying heavy shields of thick buffalo hide, were 
coming like the wind. Over all was splashed the rich colors 
of red, vermillion and ochre, on the bodies of the men, on the 
bodies of the running horses. Scalps dangled from bridles,, 
gorgeous war-bonnets fluttered their plumes, bright feathers 
dangled from the tails and manes of the horses, and the bronz- 
ed, half-naked bodies of the riders glittered with ornaments of 
silver and brass. Behind this head-long charging host stretch- 
ed the Plains, on whose horizon the rising sun was lifting its 
morning fires. The warriors seemed to emerge from this glow- 
ing background. 

"I must confess, however, that the landscape possessed 
little interest for me when I saw that the Indians were coming 

92 



to attack us, and that they would be at hand in a few moments. 
War-whooping had a very appreciable effect upon the roots of 
a man's hair. 

"I fired one shot, but had no desire to wait and see where 
the bullet went. I turned and ran as quickly as possible to the 
nearest building, which happened to be Hanrahan's saloon. I 
found it closed. I certainly felt lonesome. The alarm had 
spread and the boys were preparing to defend themselves. I 
shouted to them to let me in. An age seemed to pass before 
they opened the door and I sprang inside. Bullets were whist- 
ling and knocking up the dust all around me. Just as the door 
was opened for me, Billy Ogg ran up and fell inside, so exhaust- 
ed that he could no longer stand. I am confident that if Billy 
had been timed, his would have been forever the world's record. 
Bill had made a desperate race, and that he should escape seem- 
ed incredible. 

"We were scarcely inside before the Indians had surround- 
ed all the buildings and shot out every window pane. When 
our men saw the Indians coming, they broke for the nearest 
building at hand, and in this way split up into three parties. 
They were gathered in the different buildings, as follows: 

"Hanrahan's Saloon — James Hanrahan, 'Bat' Masterson, 
Mike Welch, Shepherd, Hiram Watson, Billy Ogg, James Mc- 
kinley, 'Bermula' Carlisle, and William Dixon. 

"Myers & Yeonard's Store — Fred Leonard, James Campbell, 
Edward Trevor, Frank Brown, Harry Armitage, 'Dutch Henry,' 
Billy Tyler, Old Man Keeler, Mike McCabe, Henry Lease, and 
'Frenchy.' (Myers was evidently the W. C. Myers we speak 
of elsewhere in the book.) 

"Rath & Wright's Store — -James Longton, George Eddy, 
Thomas O'Keefe, William Olds and his wife; Sam Smith, and 
Andy Johnson. (Dutch Henry was the famous expert and 
practiced horse thief.) 

"Some of the men were still undressed, but nobody wasted 
any time hunting their clothes, and many of them fought for 
their lives all that summer day barefoot and in their night 
clothes. 

"The men in Hanrahan's saloon had a little the best of the 
others because of the fact that they were awake and up when 
the alarm was given. In the other buildings some of the boys 
were sound asleep and it took time for them to barricade the 
doors and windows before they began fighting. Barricades 
were built by piling up sacks of flour and grain, at which some 
of the men worked while others seized their guns and began 
shooting at the Indians. 

"The number of Indians in this attack has been variously 
estimated at from 700 to 1,000. I believe that 700 would be a 
safe guess. The warriors were mostly Kiowas, Cheyennes and 
Comanches. The latter were led by their chief Quanah, whose 
mother was a white woman, Cynthia Ann Parker, captured dur- 
ing a raid by the Comanches in Texas. Big Bow was another 
formidable Comanche chieftain; Lone Wolf was a leader of the 
Kiowas, and Little Robe and White Shield, of the Cheyennes. 

For the first half hour the Indians were reckless and daring 
enough to ride up and strike the doors with the butts of their 
guns. Finally, the buffalo-hunters all got straightened out 

93 



and were firing with deadly effect. The Indians stood up a- 
gainst this for awhile, but gradually began falling back, as we 
were emptying buckskin saddles entirely too fast for Indian 
safety. Our guns had longer range than theirs. Further- 
more, the hostiles were having little success — they had killed 
only two of our men, the Shadier brothers who were caught 
asleep in their wagon. Both were scalped. Their big New- 
foundland dog, which always slept at their feet, evidently show- 
ed fight, as the Indians killed him, and "scalped" him by cutting 
a piece of hide off his side. The Indians ransacked the wagon 
and took all the provisions. The Shadlers were freighters. 

"At our first volleys, a good many of the Indians jumped 
off their horses and prepared for a fight on foot. They soon 
abandoned this plan; and for good reason. They were the tar- 
gets of expert rough-and-ready marksmen, and for the Indians 
to stand in the open meant death. They fell back. 

"The Indians exhibited one of their characteristic traits. 
Numbers of them fell, dead or wounded, close to the buildings. 
In almost every instance a determined effort was made to 
rescue the bodies, at the imminent risk of the life of every war- 
rior that attempted this feat in front of the booming buffalo- 
guns. An Indian in those days would quickly endanger his 
own life to carry a dead or helpless comrade beyond reach of 
the enemy. I have been told that their zeal was due to some 
religious belief concerning the scalp-lock — that if a warrior 
should lose his scalp-lock his spirit would fail to reach the 
happy hunting grounds. Perhaps for the same reason the In- 
dian always tried to scalp his fallen enemy. 

"Time and again, with the fury of a whirlwind, the Indians 
charged upon the building, only to sustain greater losses than 
they were able to inflict. This was a losing game, and if uhe 
Indians kept it up we stood a fair chance of killing most of 
them. I am sure that we surprised the Indians as badly as 
they surprised us. They expected to find us asleep, unprepar- 
ed for an attack. Their "medicine" man had told them that all 
they would have to do would be to come to Adobe Walls and 
knock us on the head with sticks, and that our bullets would 
not be strong enough to break an Indian's skin. The old man 
was a bad prophet. 

"Almost at the beginning of the attack, we were surprised 
at the sound of a bugle. This bugler was with the Indians, 
and could blow the different calls as cleverly as the bugler on 
the parade ground at Fort Dodge. The story was told that he 
was a negro deserter from the Tenth Cavalry, which I never be- 
lieved. It is more probable that he was a captive halfbreed 
Mexican that was known to be living among the Kiowas and 
Comanches in the 60's. He had been captured in his boyhood 
when these Indians were raiding in the Rio Grande country, and 
grew up among them, as savage and cruel as any of their war- 
riors. How he learned to blow the bugle is unknown. A 
frontiersman who went with an expedition to the Kiowas in 
1866 tells of having found a bugler among them at that time. 
The Kiowas, he said, were able to maneuver to the sound of the 
bugle. This bugler never approached the white men closely 
enough to be recognized. 

"In the fight at Adobe Walls, the fact was discovered that 

94 



the Indian warriors were charging to_the sound of the bugle. 
In this they "tipped" their hand, for the calls were understood, 
and the buffalo-hunters were "loaded for bear" by the time the 
Indians were within range. 'Bat' Masterson, recalling this 
incident long after the fight, said: 

" ' We had in the building I was in (Hanrahan s saloon), 
two men who had served in the United States army, and under- 
stood all the bugle calls. The first call blown was a rally, 
which our men instantly understood. The next was a charge, 
and that also was understood, and immediately the Indians come 
rushing forward to a fresh attack. Every bugle call he blew 
was understood by the ex-soldiers and were carried out to the 
letter by the Indians, showing that the bugler had the Indians 
thoroughly drilled. ? • , 

" 'The bugler was killed late in the afternoon of the first 
day's fighting as he was running away from a wagon owned by 
the Shadier brothers, both of whom were killed in this same 
wagon. The bugler had his bugle with him at the time he was 
shot by Harry Armitage. Also he was carrying a tin can filled 
with sugar and another filled with ground coffee, one under 
each arm. Armitage shot him through the back with a 50- 
caliber Sharp's rifle, as he was making his escape.' 

"Billy Tyler and Fred Leonard went into the stockade, but 
were compelled to retreat, the Indians firing at them through 
the openings between the stockade pickets. Just as Tyler was 
entering the door of the adobe store, he turned to fire, and was 
struck by a bullet that penetrated his lungs. He lived about 
half an hour after he was dragged into the store. 

"The Indians were not without military tactics in trying to 
recover their dead and wounded. While one band would pour 
a hot fire into the buildings, other Indians on horseback would 
run forward under the protection of this fusilade. They suc- 
ceeded in dragging away a good many of the fallen. 

"Once during a charge I noticed an Indian riding a white 
horse toward where another Indian had gone down in the tall 
grass. The latter jumped up behind the Indian on the horse, 
and both started at full speed for safety. A rifle cracked and 
a bullet struck the horse, breaking one of its hind legs. We 
could see the blood streaming down the horse's leg. Both In- 
dians began whipping the poor brute and, lurching and stagger- 
ing on three legs, he carried them away. 

"By noon the Indians had ceased charging and had station- 
ed themselves in groups in different places, maintaining a more 
less steady fire all day on the buildings. Sometimes the In- 
dians would fire especially heavy volleys, whereupon wounded 
Indians would leap from the grass and run as far as they could 
and then drop down in the grass again. In this manner a num- 
ber escaped. 

"Along about 10 o'clock, the Indians having fallen back at 
a safer distance from the buffalo-guns, some of us noticed a 
pony standing near the corner of a big stack of buffalo hides 
at the rear of Rath's building. We could see that an Indian 
behind the hides was holding the pony by the bridle, so we shot 
the pony and it fell dead. The pony was gaily decorated with 
red calico plaited in its mane. 

"The falling of the pony left the Indian somewhat exposed 

95 



to our fire, and the boys at Hanrahan's and Rath's opened upon 
him full blast. They certainly 'fogged' him. No Indian 
ever danced a livelier jig. We kept him jumping like a flea 
back and forth behind the pile of hides. 

"I had got possession of a big "50" gun early in the fight, 
and was making considerable noise with it. I sized up what 
was going on behind the pile of buffalo hides, and took careful 
aim at the place where I thought the Indian was crouched. I 
shot through one corner of the hides. It looked to me as if that 
Indian jumped six feet straight up into the air, howling with 
pain. Evidently I had hit him. He ran zig-zag fashion for 
thirty or forty yards, howling at every jump, and dropped down 
in the tall grass. Indians commonly ran in this manner when 
under fire, to prevent our getting a bead on them. 

"I managed to get hold of the '50' gun in this manner. The 
ammunition for mine was in Rath's store, which none of us was 
in the habit of visiting at that particular moment. I had no- 
ticed that Shepher, Hanrahan's bartender was banging around 
with Hanrahan's big '50', but not making much use of it, as he 
was badly excited. 

" 'Here, Jim,' I said to Hanrahan, 'I see you are without a 
gun; take this one.' 

"I gave him mine. I then told 'Shep' to give me the '50'. 
He was so glad to turn loose of it, and handed it to me so quick- 
ly that he almost dropped it. I had the reputation of being a 
good shot and it was rather to the interest of all of us that I 
should have a powerful gun. 

"We had no way of telling what was happening to the men 
in the other buildings, and they were equally ignorant of what 
was happening to us. Not a man in our building had been 
hit. I could never see how we escaped, for at times the bullets 
poured in like hail and made us hug the sod walls like gophers 
when a hawk was swooping past. 

By this time there were a large number of wounded horses 
standing near the buildings. A horse gives up quickly when 
in pain, and these made no effort to get away. Even those 
that were at a considerable distance from the buildings when 
they received their wounds came to us, as if seeking our help 
and sympathy. It was a pitiable sight, and touched our hearts, 
for the boys loved their horses. I noticed that horses that had 
been wounded while grazing in the valley also came to the 
buildings, where they stood helpless and bleeding or dropped 
down and died. 

"We had been pouring a pile of bullets from our stronghold, 
and about noon were running short of ammunition. Hanrahan 
and I decided that it was time to replenish our supply, and that 
we would have to make a run for Rath's store, where there 
were thousands of rounds which had been brought from Dodge 
City for the buffalo-hunters: 

"We peered cautiously outside to see if any Indians were 
ambushed where they could get a pot shot at us. The coast 
looked clear, so we crawled out of a window and hit the ground 
running, running like jack-rabbits, and made it to Rath's in 
the fastest kind of time. The Indians saw us, however, before 
the boys could open the door, and opened at long rage. The 
door framed a good target. I have no idea how many guns 

96 



were cracking away at us, but I do know that bullets rattled 
round us like hail. Providence seemed to be looking after the 
boys at Adobe Walls that day, and we got inside without a 
scratch, though badly winded. 

"We found everybody at Rath's in good shape. We re- 
mained here some time. Naturally, Hanrahan wanted to re- 
turn to his own building, and he proposed that we try to make 
our way back. There were fewer men at Rath's than at any 
other place, and their anxiety was increased by the presence 
of a woman, Mrs. Olds. If the latter fact should be learned 
by the Indians there was no telling what they might attempt, 
and a determined attack by the Indians would have meant death 
for everybody in the store, for none would have suffered them- 
selves to be taken alive nor permitted Mrs. Olds to be captured. 
"The boys begged me to stay with them. Hanrahan finally 
said that he was going back to his own place, telling me that I 
could do as I thought best. Putting most of his ammunition 
into a sack, we opened the door quickly for him, and away he 
went, doing his level best all the way to his saloon, which he 
reached without mishap. 

"In the restaurant part of Rath's store, a transom had been 
cut over the west door; this transom was open, as no glass had 
even been put in. This door had been strongly barricaded with 
sacks of flour and grain, one of the best breastworks imagin- 
able, the Indians having no guns that could shoot through it. 

"Climbing to the top of this barricade, to take a good look 
over the ground west of the building, I saw an object crawling 
along in the edge of the tall grass. Levelling my gun, and, 
taking aim with my body resting on one knee, I fired. The re- 
coil was so great that I lost my balance and tumbled backward 
from the top of the barricade. As I went down I struck and 
dislodged a washtub and a bushel or two of cooking utensils 
which made a terrific crash as they struck the floor around me. 
I fell heavily myself, and the tumbling down of my big '50' did 
not lessen the uproar. The commotion startled everybody. The 
boys rushed forward believing that I had been shot, even kill- 
ed. I found it quite difficult to convince them that I had not 
been shot, and that most of the noise had been caused by the 
tub and the tin pans. 

"Iwas greatly interested in the object I had shot at, so I 
crawled up on the sacks again. By looking closely, I was able 
to see the object mbve. I now fired a second time, and was 
provoked at seeing the bullet kick up the dirt just beyond the 
object. I tried the third time and made a center shot. 

"By 2 o'clock the Indians had fallen back to the foot of the 
hills and were firing only at intervals. They had divided their 
force, putting part on the west side and part on the east side of 
the buildings. Warriors were riding more or less constantly 
across the valley from one side to the other, which exposed 
them to our fire. So we began picking them off. They were 
soon riding in a much bigger circle, and out of range. 

"This lull in the fighting was filled with a kind of disturb- 
ing uncertainty. Since early morning, we had been able to 
hold the enemy at bay. We were confident that we could con- 
tinue to do so as long as we had ammunition. We thanked our 
stars that we were behind thick adobe walls, instead of thin 

97 



pine boards. We could not have saved ourselves had the 1 
buildings been frame, such as were commonly built in frontier 
towns in those days. Still, there was no telling how desperate; 
the Indians might become, rather than abandon the fight; it 
was easily possible for them to overwhelm us with the brute 
force of superior numbers by pressing the attack until they had 
broken down the doors, and which probably would have been at- 
tempted, however great the individual sacrifice, had the enemy 
been white men. Luckily, it was impossible to set the adobes, 
on fire, or else we should have been burned alive. 

"About 4 o'clock in the afternoon a young fellow at Hanra- 
han's 'Bermuda' Carlisle, ventured out to pick up an Indian 
trinket which he could see from the window. As he was not 
shot at, he went out a second time, whereupon others began go- 
ing out, all eager to find relics. For the first time, we now 
heard of the death of Billy Tyler at Leonard & Myer's. Tyler 
had been killed at the beginning of the fight, as had the Shad- 
lers. 

"When I saw that it was possible to leave the buildings 
with reasonable safety, I determined to satisfy my curiosity 
about three things. 

"An iron-gray horse had been standing for hours not far 
from the south window of Hanrahan's saloon. I could not un- 
derstand what had held him so long, before he was finally 
shot by the Indians themselves. When I reached the carcass, 
the mystery was clear — there lay a dead warrior who had fallen 
in such a way as to make fast the rope that held the horse. The 
horse wore a silver-mounted bridle. With a buffalo bone I 
pried open the stiffened jaws and removed the bridle, also tak- 
ing the rawhide lariat. 

"On one of the reins, about ten inches from the bit, was 
fastened a scalp, which evidently had been taken from the 
head of a white woman, the hair being dark brown in color and 
about fifteen inches in length. The scalp was lined with cloth, 
and edged with beads. Several other scalps were found that 
day. One was on a war shield. 

"My attention likewise had been attracted by an object at 
the rear of the little sod house west of Rath's store. We had 
fired at it over and over until we had cut a gap in the corner of 
the sod house. The object finally had disappeared from sight. 
For a considerable time we had seen feathers whipping round 
the corner in the wind, and had thought that probably three 
or four Indians were concealed there. Every time I had turn- 
ed loose my big '50' I had torn out a chunk of sod. 

"When I reached the sod house, I was startled at what I 
saw. There sat a painted and feathered warrior in a perfect- 
ly upright position with his legs crossed and his head turned 
to one side in the most natural way imaginable. His neck was 
broken and he was as dead as they, ever made 'em. I am 
bound to admit that I jumped back, fearful that he was alive 
and would bore me through and through before I could pull 
down on him. 

"What we had been shooting at so frequently was the dead 
warrior's lance, which was covered with webbing and adorned 
with black feathers at intervals of every five or six inches. The 
lance had been stuck upright in the ground, and had been shot 

98 



in two, which caused the feathers to disappear — the upper part 
had doubled over across the dead Indian's legs. I added the 
lance to my 'prizes of war.' 

"The object that I had seen crawling along the edge of the 
tall grass was the third that demanded my attention. I found 
a dead Indian lying flat on his stomach. He was naked, save 
for a white cloth wrapped round his hips. His six-shooter was 
in his belt. The Indian had been shot through the body, and 
one knee had been shattered. I could plainly see the trail he 
had made by the blood on the grass. A short distance away 
lay a shot pouch and a powder horn; these were about fifteen 
army cartridges in the pouch. A few steps further, was his 
50-caliber needle gun, an army Springfield. Next, were his 
bow and his quiver. I confiscated the whole outfit. 

"There were several dogs at the Walls, but all of them cut 
for tall timber when the fighting began and did not show up 
for several days. All our horses were killed or run off. The 
five horses that had been left in the stockade were quickly 
shot down, the Indians poking their guns between the cotton- 
wood pickets. Four head tied to a wagon near Rath's were 
cruelly killed. I saw the Indians when they first rode up and 
tried to cut the rope with a butcher knife. One was a gray 
mare that was notorious for her vicious kicking. She would 
not let the Indians approach her, so all were shot. My own 
saddle horse, which I had owned for years and highly prized, 
was among the first to be shot, and still lay tied to the wagon 
when I found him. 

"The Indians were not without military strategy. They 
had planned to put every man of us afoot, thereby leaving us 
without means of escape and powerless to send for aid save as 
some messenger might steal away in the darkness, to traverse 
on foot the weary distance and the dangerous and inhospitable 
region that lay between us and Dodge City. By holding us con- 
stantly at bay and keeping fresh detachments of warriors rally- 
ing to the attack they probably thought it possible to exhaust 
our strength, and then overwhelm us. It should be remember- 
ed that Adobe Walls was scarcely more than a lone island in 
the vast sea of the Plains, a solitary refuge' uncharted and prac- 
tically unknown. For the time we were at the end of the 
world, our desperate extremity pressing heavily upon us, and 
our friends and comrades to the north ignorant of what was 
taking place. 

"Despite the utmost efforts of our savage foes to carry 
away their dead and wounded, thirteen dead Indians were left 
•on the ground near the buildings, so closely under the muz- 
zles of our guns that it would have been suicide for their com- 
rades to have attempted their recovery. By the time we had 
buried our three comrades, darkness had come, and we aban- 
doned further outside work and returned to the protection of 
the buildings, completely exhausted by the strain and excite- 
ment of the day's fighting. 

"What we had experienced ate into aj man's nerves. I 
doubt if any of us slept soundly that June night. Somewhere 
'out there in the darkness our enemies were watching to see that 
nobody escaped from the beleagured adobe buildings. Inas- 
much as Indians rarely, if ever, attack at night, preferring the 

99 



shadows of early morning when sleep is soundest, and when 
there is less chance of their being ambushed, we felt reason- 
ably certain of not being attacked before daybreak. As for 
myself I dreamed all night, the bloody scenes of the day pass- 
ing in endless procession through my mind — I could see the 
Indians charging across the valley, hear the roar of the guns 
and the blood-curdling war-whoops, until everything was a be- 
wildering swirl of fantastic colors and movements. 

"All my comrades at Adobe Walls that day showed much 
courage. It is with pride that I can recall its many incidents 
without the feeling that there was the slightest inclination on 
the part of any man to show the 'white feather.' To be nerv- 
ous or fearful of death is no sign of weakness — sticking at 
one's post and doing the thing that is to be done is what counts. 

" 'Bat' Masterson should be remembered for the valor that 
marked his conduct. He was a good shot, and not afraid. He 
has worked his way up in the world, and has long been a suc- 
cessful writer for a New York newspaper. He was sheriff of 
Ford county, Kansas, at Dodge City, in 1876-77. It has always 
seemed strange to me that finally he should prefer life in a big 
city, after having lived in the west. I have been told that he 
has said that he had no wish again to live over those old days, 
that they no longer appealed to him, but I never believed it. 
Such a thing is contrary to human nature. ('Bat' died in New 
York, October, 1921.) 

"Our situation looked rather gloomy. With every horse 
dead or captured, we felt pretty sore all round. The Indians 
were somewhere close at hand, watching our every movement. 
We were depressed with the melancholy feeling that probably 
all the hunters out in the camps had been killed. Late that 
afternoon our spirits leaped up when we saw a team coming up 
the valley from the direction of the Canadian. This outfit be- 
longed to George Bellfield, a German who had been a soldier in 
the Civil War. 

"A black flag was fiyng from one of the buildings, and 
when Bellfield and his companions saw it they thought we 
were playing some kind of joke on them. In broken English 
Bellfield remarked to his men, 'Dem fellers tink day's damn 
smart, alretty.' But when he drew nearer and began seeing 
the dead horses, he put the whip to his team and came in at a 
dead run. 

"When asked if they had been attacked by Indians, Bell- 
field and his men said that they had not seen a sign of one. 
That same day Jim and Bob Cator came in from their camp 
north of Adobe Walls. (We knew the Cators. Jim Cator is 
still living at his old ranch, on the Palo Duro, about twenty 
miles from Spearman in the Pan Handle, 1921.) 

"On the third day a party of about fifteen Indians appeared 
on the side of the bluff, east of Adobe Walls Creek, and some 
of the boys suggested that I try my big '50' on 'them. The 
distance was not far from three-fourths of a mile. A number 
of exaggerated accounts have been written about this incident. 
I took careful aim and pulled the trigger. We saw an Indian 
fall from his horse. The others dashed out of sight behind a 
clump of timber. A few moments later two Indians ran quick- 
ly on foot to where the dead Indian lay, seized his body and 

100 



scurried to cover. TTiey had risked their lives, as we had 
frequently observed, to rescue a comrade who, might be not 
only wounded but dead. I was admittedly a good marksman, 
yet this was what might be called a 'scratch' shot. 

"More hunters came in on the third day, and as news of 
the Indian outbreak spread from camp to camp the boys were 
soon coming in like blackbirds from all directions — and they 
lost no time making the trip. By the sixth day there were 
fully a hundred men at the Walls, which may have given rise 
to the statement so frequently made in after years that all 
these men were in the fight. 

"The lone woman who was at Adobe Walls, Mrs. Olds, was 
as brave as the bravest. She knew only too well how horrible 
her fate would be if she should fall into the hands of the In- 
dians, and under such circumstances it would have caused no 
surprise had she gone into the wildest hysterics. But all that 
first day, when the hand of death seemed to be reaching from 
•every direction, this pioneer woman was cool and composed and 
lent a helping hand in every emergency. 

"By the fifth day enough hunters had arrived to make us 
feel comparatively safe, yet it was expedient that we should 
protect ourselves as fully as possible, so the men began fortify- 
ing the buildings. None of them had been finished, nor had 
any port-holes been cut in the walls. Our shooting was done 
from the windows and transoms. With portholes we could 
have killed many more Indians. A little inclosure with sod 
-walls was now built on top of Rath's store, and another on top 
<of Myer's for lookouts. A ladder led from the inside to these 
lookouts. 

"On the fifth day William Olds was stationed in the lookout 
on Rath's store, to watch for Indians while the other men were 
at work. The lookout on the other buildings shouted that In- 
dians were coming, and all of us ran for our guns and for shel- 
ter inside the buildings. Just as I entered Rath's store I saw 
Olds coming down the ladder with his gun in his hand. A 
moment later his gun went off accidentally, tearing off the top 
of Olds' head. At the same instant Mrs. Olds rushed from an 
adjoining room — in time to see the body of her husband roll 
from the ladder and crumple at her feet, a torrent of blood 
gushing from the terrible wound. Olds died instantly. Glad- 
ly would I have faced all the Indians from the Cimarron to Red 
River, rather than have witnessed this terrible scene. It seem- 
ed to me that it would have been better for any other man there 
to have been taken than the husband of the only woman among 
us. Her grief was intense and pitiable. A rough lot of men, 
such as we were, did not know how to comfort a woman in such 
distress. We did the best we could, and if we did it awkward- 
ly, it should not be set down against us. Had we been called 
upon to fight for her, we would not have asked about the odds, 
hut would have sailed in, tooth and toe-nail. When we tried 
to speak to her we just choked up and stood still. We buried 
Olds that same evening, about sixty feet from the spot where 
he was killed, just southeast of Rath's store. 

"The Indians that had caused the alarm numbered between 
twenty-five and thirty, and were up the valley of Adobe Walls 
Creek headed east. Finally, they disappeared, and we did not 

101 



see them again. They may not have belonged to the attacking 
party, and were merely passing through the country. 

"I always regretted that I did not keep the relics I picked 
up at Adobe Walls. Mrs. Olds asked me for the lance when I 
returned to the building, and I gave it to her. The other relics 
I took to Dodge City, and gave them away to first one person 
and then another." 

BUFFALO WALLOW FIGHT. 
By Billy Dixon. 

"The most perilous adventure of my life occurred Septem- 
ber 12, 1874, in what was known as the Buffalo Wallow Fight. 
My escape from death was miraculous. The year 1874, as the 
reader doubtless may have observed, brought me full measure 
of things I had dreamed of doing when a boy. I came in con- 
tact with hostile Indians as frequently as the most devoted 
warrior might wish, and found that it was serious business. 

"On September 10, 1874, General Nelson A. Miles, in com- 
mand of the troops campaigning against the Indians in the 
Southwest, was on McClellan Creek, in the Panhandle, when he 
ordered Amos Chapman and myself, scouts, and four enlisted 
men to carry dispatches to Fort Supply. The enlisted men 
were Sergeant Z. T. Woodhull, Troop I; Private Peter Rath, 
Troop A.; Private John Harrington, Troop H; and Private 
George W. Smith, Troop M, Sixth Cavalry. When General 
Miles handed us the dispatches, he told us that we could have 
all the soldiers we thought necessary. His command was 
short of rations. We preferred the smallest possible number. 

(Charley Seringo says he knows Amos Chapman who is 
still living. He says. "I have known Amos Chapman since 1877, 
the man who lost a leg in the Buffalo Wallow fight." (I have a 
letter from Mrs. Olive Dixon, the widow of Billy Dixon, in 
which she states that Chapman is the only survivor of that 
battle and she and others interested, are this fall, 1921, en- 
deavoring to get Amos over from Oklahoma, with the view of 
having him point out the exact location of that battle, as they 
want to mark it with a monument.) Seringo continues: "He 
told me all about the scrap and I often hear of him. A few 
year^ ago one of his half breed daughters committed suicide by 
jumping in the river because her father wouldn't let her marry 
an Indian Buck." Charley Shideler also knew Chapman and 
writes me, "This Amos Chapman spoken of, I recollect was a 
Squaw Man ( a white man who marries an Indian woman), and 
lived near Fort Cantonment, and through his right as a squaw 
man, the Dickey Brothers were permitted to put their herd in 
the Indian Territory." (The Dickey outfit was the company 
that Charley and I worked for in the San Luis Valley, Colorado, 
and Charley Plowman was their Foreman in the Indian Terri- 
tory.) Charley continues and says, "I think it was in the 
spring of '79, the year after the Sioux Indians were taken to the 
territory. They kept trying to go back and word came that 
thirty or forty of them started and were determined to return 
to their old reservation. Chapman, with a squad of soldiers, 
was detailed to bring them back. The second day out Chap- 
man heard of them six or eight miles off the trail, about forty 
of them with one squaw, doing the death dance and circling 

102 



around the squaw. He rode up and marched them back to the 
Fort without the aid of a single soldier." It is said that Chap- 
man married the daughter of one of the chiefs who attacked 
and came near wiping out Chapman and Billy Dixon and the 
others at the Buffalo Wallow fight.) 

(Amos Chapman is still living November 15, 1921. Charley 
Shideler knew him, he was a squaw man — he married into one 
of the Tribe that staged this fight.) 

"Leaving camp, we traveled mostly at night, resting in 
secluded places during the day. War parties were moving in 
every direction, and there was danger of attack at every turn. 
On the second day, just as the sun was rising, we were nearing 
a divide between the Washita River and Gageby Creek. Rid- 
ing to the top of a little knoll, we found ourselves almost face 
to face with a large band of Kiowa and Comanche warriors. The 
Indians saw us at the same instant and, circling quickly, sur- 
rounded us. We were in a trap. We knew that the best 
thing to do was to make a stand and fight for our lives, as there 
would be great danger of our becoming separated in the ex- 
citement of a running fight, after which the Indians could the 
more easily kill us one by one. We also realized that we could 
do better work on foot, so we dismounted and placed our horses 
in the cure of George Smith. In a moment or two poor Smith 
was shot down, and the horses stampeded. 

"When Smith was shot, he fell flat on his stomach, and his 
gun fell from his hand, far beyond his reach. But no Indian 
was ever able to capture that gun ; if one ventured near Smith, 
we never failed to bring him down. We thought Smith was 
dead when he fell, but he survived until about 11 o'clock that 
night. 

"I realized at once that I was in closer quarters than I had 
ever been in my life, and I have always felt that I did some 
good work that day. I was fortunate enough not to become 
disabled at any stage of the fight, which left me free to do my 
best under the circumstances. I received one wound — a bul- 
let in the calf of my leg. I was wearing a thin cashmere shirt, 
slightly bloused. This shirt was literally riddled with bul- 
lets. How a man could be shot at so many times at close range 
and not be hit I could never understand. The Indians seemed 
to feel absolutely sure of getting us, so sure, in fact, that they 
delayed riding us down and killing us at once, which they could 
easily have done, and prolonged the early stages of the fight 
merely to satisfy their desire to toy with an enemy at bay, as a 
cat would play with a mouse before taking its life. 

"We saw that there was no show for us to survive on this 
little hillside, and decided that our best fighting ground was a 
small mesquite flat several hundred yards distant. Before we 
undertook to shift our position a bullet struck Amos Chapman. 
I was looking at him when he was shot. Amos said, 'Billy, I 
am hit at last,' and eased himself down. The fight was so hot 
that I did not have time to ask him how badly he was hurt. 
Every man, save Rath and myself, had been wounded. Our 
situation was growing more desperate every minute. I knew 
that something had to be done, and quickly, or else all of us in 
a short while would be dead or in the hands of the Indians, 

103 



who would torture us in the most inhuman manner Before tak- 
ing our Lives. 

"I could see where the buffaloes had pawed and wallowed 
a depression, commonly called a buffalo 'wallow,' and I ran for 
it at top speed. It seemed as if a bullet whizzed past me at 
every jump, but I got through unharmed. The wallow was 
about ten feet in diameter. I found that its depth, though 
slight, afforded some protection. I shouted to my comrades 
to try to come to me, which all of them save Smith and Chap- 
man, commenced trying to do. As each man reached the wal- 
low, he drew his butcher knife and began digging desperately 
with knife and hands to throw up the dirt round the sides. The 
land happened to be sandy, and we made good headway, though 
constantly interrupted by the necessity of firing at the Indiana 
as they dashed within range, 

"It was probably about noon before we reached the wal- 
low. Many times that terrible day did I think that my last 
moment was at hand. Once, when the Indians were crowding 
us awfully hard, one of the boys raised up and yelled, 'No use, 
boys, no use; we might as well give it up.' We answered by 
shouting to him to lie down. At that moment a bullet struck 
in the soft bank near him and completely filled his mouth with 
dirt. I was so amused that I laughed, though in a rather sick- 
ly way, for none of us felt much like laughing. 

"By this time, however, I had recovered from the first ex- 
citement of battle, and was perfectly cool, as were the rest of 
the men. We were keenly aware that the only thing to do was 
to sell our lives as dearly as possible. We fired deliberately, 
taking good aim, and were picking off an Indian at almost every 
round. The wounded men conducted themselves admirably, 
and greatly assisted in concealing our crippled condition by 
sitting upright, as if unhurt, after they reached the wallow. 
This made it impossible for the Indians accurately to guess 
what plight we were in. Had they known so many of us were 
wounded undoubtedly they would have rode in and finished us. 

"After all had reached the wallow, with the exception of 
Chapman and Smith, all of us thinking that Smith was dead, 
somebody called to Chapman to come on in. We now learned 
for the first time that Chapman's leg was broken. He called 
back that he could not walk, as his left knee was shattered. 

"I made several efforts to reach him before I succeeded. 
Every time the Indians saw me start, they would fire such a 
volley that I was forced to retreat, until finally I made a run 
and got to Chapman. I told him to climb on my back, my plan 
being to carry him as I would a little child. Drawing both 
his legs in front of me, and laying the broken one over the 
sound one, to support it, I carried him to the wallow, though 
not without difficulty, as he was a larger man than myself, and 
his body a dead weight. It taxed my strength to carry him. 

"We were now all in the wallow, except Smith, and we felt 
that it would be foolish and useless to risk our lives in attempt- 
ing to bring in his dead body. We had not seen him move 
since the moment he went down. We began digging like goph- 
ers with our hands and knives to make our little wall of earth 
higher, and shortly had heaped up quite a little wall of dirt a- 

104 



round us. Its protection was quickly felt, even though our 
danger was hardly lessened. 

When I look back and recall our situation, I always find my- 
self thinking of how my wounded companions never complain- 
ed nor faltered, but fought as bravely as if a bullet had not 
touched them. Sometimes the Indians would ride towards us 
at headlong speed with lances uplifted and poised, undoubt- 
edly bent upon spearing us. Such moments made a man brace 
himself and grip his gun. Fortunately, we were able to keep 
our heads and to bring down or disable the leader. Such 
charges proved highly dangerous to the Indians and gradually 
grew less frequent. 

"Thus, all that long, hot September day the Indians circl- 
ed around us or dashed past, yelling and cutting all kinds of 
capers. All morning we had been without water, and the 
wounded were sorely in need of it. In the stress and excite- 
ment of such an encounter, even a man who has not been hurt 
grows painfully thirsty, and his tongue and lips are soon as 
dry as a whetstone. Ours was the courage of despair. We 
knew what would befall us if we should be captured alive — we 
had seen too many naked and mangled bodies of white men 
who had been spread-eagled and tortured with steel and fire to 
forget what our own fate would be. So we were determined 
to fight to the end, not unmindful of the fact that every once 
in a while there was another dead or wounded Indian. 

"About 3 o'clock a black cloud came up in the west, and in 
a short time the sky shook and blazed with thunder and light- 
ning. Rain fell in blinding sheets, drenching us to the skin. 
Water gathered quickly in the buffalo wallow, and our wound- 
ed men eagerly bent forward and drank from the muddy pool. 
It was more than muddy — that water was red with their own 
blood that had flowed from their wounds and lay clotting and 
dry in the hot September sun. 

"The storm and the rain proved our salvation. The wind 
had shifted to the north and was now drearily chilling us to 
the bone. An Indian dislikes rain, especially a cold rain, and 
these Kiowas and Comanches were no exception to the rule. 
We could see them in groups out of rifle range sitting on their 
horses with their blankets drawn tightly around them. The 
Plains country beats the world for quick changes in weather, 
and in less than an hour after the rain had fallen, the wind 
was bitterly cold. Not a man in our crowd had a coat, and 
our thin shirts were scant protection. Our coats were tied 
behind our saddles when our horses stampeded, and were lost 
beyond recovery. I was heart-sick over the loss of my coat, 
for in the inside pocket was my dearest treasure, my mother's 
picture, which my father had given me shortly before his death. 
I was never able to recover it. 

"The water was gathering rapidly in the wallow and soon 
had reached a depth of two inches. Not a man murmured. Not 
one thought of surrender. The wounded were shivering as 
if they had ague. 

"We now found that our ammunition was running low. 
This fact rather appalled us, as bullets, and plenty of them, 
were our only protection. At the fight at the Walls, not only 
was there plenty of ammunition, but the buildings themselves 

105 



gave confidence. Necessity compelled us to save every cart- 
ridge as long as possible, and not to fire at an Indian unless we 
could see that he meant business and was coming right into us. 

"Late in the afternoon somebody suggested that we go out 
and get Smith's belt and six-shooter, as he had been shot early 
in the fight and his belt undoutbedly was loaded with cart- 
ridges. 

"Rath offered to go, and soon returned and said that Smith 
was still alive, which astonished us greatly, as well as causing 
us to regret that we had not known it earlier in the day. Rath 
and I at once got ready to bring Smith to the buffalo wallow. 
By supporting the poor wounded fellow between us, he manag- 
ed to walk. We could see that there was no chance for him. 
He was shot through the left lung and when he breathed the 
wind sobbed out of his back under the shoulder blade. Near 
the wallow an Indian had dropped a stout willow switch with 
which he had been whipping his pony. With this switch a 
silk handkerchief was stuffed into the gaping bullet hole in 
Smith's back. 

"Night was approaching, and it looked blacker to me than 
any night I had ever seen. Ours was a forlorn and disheart- 
ening situation. The Indians were still all around us. The 
nearest relief was seventy-five miles away. Of the six men in 
the wallow, four were badly wounded, and without anything 
to relieve their suffering. We were cold and hungry, with 
nothing to eat, and without a blanket, coat or hat to protect us 
from the rain and the biting wind. It was impossible to rest 
or sleep in the two inches of water in the wallow. 

"I remember that I threw my hat, a wide-brimmed som- 
brero, as far from me as I could when our horses stampeded — 
the hat was in my way and too good a target for the Indians to 
shoot at. 

"We were unable to get grass for bedding, as the whole 
country had been burnt off by the Indians. It was absolutely 
necessary, however, that the men should have some kind of bed 
to keep them off the cold, damp ground. Rath and I solved the 
problem by gathering tumble-weeds which in that country the 
wind would drive for miles and miles, until the weeds lodged 
and became fast. Many of them were bigger than a bushel 
basket, and their twigs so tough that the weeds had the 
'spring' of a wire mattress. We crushed the weeds, and lay 
down on them for the night, though not a man dared close his 
eyes in sleep. 

"By the time heavy darkness had fallen every Indian had 
disappeared. Happily, they did not return to molest us dur- 
ing the night. There was a new moon, but so small and 
slender that in the clouded sky there was little light. While 
there was still light, I took the willow switch and sat down on 
the bank and carefully cleaned every gun. 

"While I was cleaning the guns, we held a consultation to 
decide what would be best for us to do. We agreed that some- 
body should go for help. No journey could have been beset 
with greater danger. Rath and I both offered to go. The task 
was squarely up to us, as all the other men were injured. I 
insisted that I should go, as I knew the country, and felt con- 

106 



fident that I could find the trail that led to Camp Supply. I 
was sure that we were not far from this trail. 

"My insistence at once caused protest from the wounded. 
They were willing that Rath should go, but would not listen to 
my leaving them. Once I put my hand on my gun with the in- 
tention of going anyway, then yielded to their wishes against 
my better judgment, and decided to remain through the night. 
The wounded men relied greatly upon my skill as a marksman. 

"Bidding us goodbye, Rath disappeared in the darkness. 
After he had been gone about two hours he came back, saying 
that he could not find the trail. 

"By this time Smith had grown much worse and was beg- 
ging us in piteous tones to shoot him and put an end to his ter- 
rible sufferings. We found it necessary to watch him closely 
to prevent his committing suicide. 

"There was not a man among us who had not thought of 
that same melancholy fate. When the fight was at its worst, 
with the Indians closing in on all sides, and when it seemed 
that every minute would be our last, I was strongly tempted to 
take my butcher knife, which I kept at razor edge, and cut off 
my hair. In those days my hair was black and heavy and 
brushed my shoulders. As a matter of fact, I was rather 
proud of my hair. Its luxuriance would have tempted any 
Indian to scalp me at the first opportunity. I had a further 
and final plan — to save my last bullet for self destruction. 

"Poor Smith endured his agony like a brave soldier. Our 
hearts ached but we could do nothing to relieve his pain. A- 
bout 10 o'clock that night he fell asleep and we were glad of it, 
for in sleep he could forget his sufferings. Later in the night 
one of the boys felt of him, to see how he was getting along. 
He was cold in death. Men commonly think of death as some- 
thing to be shunned. There are times, however, when its 
hand falls as tenderly as the touch of a mother's hand, and 
when its coming is welcomed by those to whom hopeless suf- 
fering has brought the last bitter dregs of life. We lifted the 
body of our dead comrade and gently laid it outside the buffalo 
wallow on the mesquite grass, covering the white face with a 
silk handkerchief. 

"Then the rest of us huddled together on the damp ground, 
and thought of the morrow. That night is indelibly stamped 
in my memory; many a time have its perils filled my dreams, 
until I awoke startled and thrilled by a feeling of imminent 
danger. Every night the same stars are shining way out 
there in the Panhandle, the winds sigh as mournfully as they 
did then, and I often wonder if a single settler who passes the 
lonely spot knows how desperately six men once battled for 
their lives where now may be plowed fields, and safety and the 
comforts of civilizaton. 

"Like everything else, the long night finally came to an 
end, and the sun rose clear and warm next morning. By this 
time all the men were willing that I should go for help, and I 
at once started. Daylight exposed me to many dangers from 
which the night shielded me. By moving cautiously at night, 
It was possible to avoid the enemy, but if surprised, to stand a 
good chance of escape. In the daytime, however, the enemy 
could lie in hiding and scan the country in every direction. On 

107 



the Plains, especially in the fall when the grass is brown, the 
smallest moving object may be perceived by the trained eye at 
an astonishingly long distance. I knew that I must proceed 
with utmost caution, lest I fall into an ambush or be attacked 
in the open by superior numbers. 

"I had traveled scarcely more than half a mile when I 
struck the plain trail leading to Camp Supply. Hurrying a- 
long as rapidly as possible and keeping a constant lookout for 
Indians, I checked myself at the sudden sight of an outfit that 
seemed to cover about an acre of ground, two miles or so to the 
northwest. The outfit at first did not appear to be moving and 
I could not tell whether it was made up of white men or In- 
dians. I skulled to a growth of tall grass and hid for a while. 
My nerves were too keen to endure hiding and waitng, so I stole 
back and took another look. The outfit was moving toward 
me. Shortly I was able to see that they were troops — Indians al- 
ways traveled strung out in a line, while these were traveling 
abreast. 

"I never felt happier in my life. I whanged loose with 
my old '50' to attract the attention of the soldiers, and saw the 
whole command come to a halt. I fired my gun a second time, 
which brought two soldiers to me. I told them of our condi- 
tion, and they rode rapidly back to the command and reported. 
The commanding officer was Major Price, with a troop, ac- 
companying General Miles' supply train which was on its way 
with supplies from Fort Supply to field headquarters. 

"The same Indians that we had been fighting had been 
holding this supply train corralled for four days near the 
Washita River. Major Price, luckily for the outfit, happened 
along and raised the siege. The Indians had just given up the 
attack when we ran into them. 

"Major Price rode over to where I was waiting, bringing 
his army surgeon with him. I described the condition of my 
comrades, after which Major Price sent the surgeon and two 
soldiers to see what could be done for the wounded. I point- 
ed out the place, which was about a mile distant, and asked 
the surgeon if he thought he could find it without my going 
along, as Major Price wanted me to tell him about the fight. 
The surgeon said that he could and rode away. 

"I was describing in detail all that had happened when I 
looked up and saw that the refief party was bearing too far 
south. I fired my gun to attract their attention, and then wav- 
ed it in the direction which they were to go. By this time 
they were within gunshot of my comrades in the buffalo wal- 
low. To my utter astonishment, I heard the roar of a gun and 
saw a puff of smoke rise from the wallow — one of the men had 
fired at the approaching strangers, killing a horse ridden by 
one of the soldiers. 

"I ran forward as rapidly as possible, not knowing what 
the men would do next. They were soon able to recognize me, 
and lowered their guns. When we got to them the men said 
that they had heard shooting — the shots I had fired to attract 
the attention of the troops — and supposed that the Indians had 
killed me and were coming for them. They were determined 
to take no chances, and shot at the surgeon and the two sol- 
diers the moment they got within range. 

108 



"Despite the sad plight of the wounded men, about all the 
surgeon did was to examine their injuries. The soldiers turn- 
ed over a few pieces of hardtack and some dried beef, which 
happened to be tied behind their saddles. Major Price refused 
to leave any men with us. For this he was afterwards severe- 
ly censured, and justly. He would not even provide us with 
firearms. Our own ammunition was -exhausted and the sol- 
diers carried guns of different make and caliber from ours. 
However, they said they would let General Miles know of our 
condition. We were sure that help would come the moment 
General Miles heard the news. At the time we were glad just 
to have seen these men and did not think much about how they 
treated us. 

"We watched and waited until midnight of the second day 
after the troops had passed before help came. A long way off 
in the dark we h«ard the faint sound of a bugle. It made us 
swallow a big lump in our throats and bite our lips. Nearer 
and clearer came the bugle notes. Our nerves were getting 
'jumpy,' so strong was our emotion. We fired our guns, to let 
them know where we were, and soon the soldiers came riding 
out of the darkness. 

"As soon as the wounded could be turned over to the sur- 
geon, we placed the body of our dead comrade in the wallow 
where we had all fought and suffered together, and covered it 
with the dirt which we had ridged up with our hands and 
butcher knives for breastworks. Then we went down on the 
creek where the soldiers had built a big fire and cooked a meal 
for us. 

"Next day the wounded were sent to Gamp Supply where 
-they were given humane and careful treatment. Amos Chap- 
man's leg was amputated above the knee. Amos was as tough 
as second growth hickory and was soon out of the hospital and 
in the saddle. All the men recovered and went right on with 
the army. Chapman could handle a gun and ride as well as 
ever, the only difference being that he had to mount his horse 
from the right side, Indian fashion. 

"I should like once more to meet the men with whom I 
fought in the Buffalo Wallow Fight, but I seldom hear from 
them. When I last heard of Amos Chapman he was living at 
Seiling, Oklahoma. My last letter from Sergeant Woodhull 
was dated Fort Wingate, New Mexico, 1883. This was short- 
ly after Colonel Dodge had published his book, "Our Wild In- 
dians," in which he attempted to give a circumstantial ac- 
count of the Buffalo Wallow Fight. .Sergeant Woodhull was 
displeased with the statement of facts, and resented the in- 
accuracies. 

Billy Dixon, in relating his history, mentions a man by the 
name of A. C. Myers whom he met in Dodge City in 1874, where 
the buffalo hunters were wintering and discussing the increas- 
ing scarcity of the buffalo. He says that Myers was at that 
time engaged in the general merchandise business and had 
once been a buffalo hunter and had built a smoke house on 
Pawnee Creek where he cured buffalo hams for the eastern 
markets. The meat was prepared for smoking by taking the 
two hind quarters and dividing each into three chunks, which 
made six pieces of boneless meat, about the size of an ordinary 

109 



ham' of pork. Myers sugar cured each piece, smoked it, and 
sewed it in canvas. This kind of buffalo meat was of the: 
choicest and commended a high price in the eastern market. 
Only a few dealers cured their meat this way. When Sam 
Hanna, Charley Shideler and I decided to try our luck in the 
cattle business and locate in the Pan Handle, Charley and 
Sam went in advance from Colorado by wagon, to locate or take 
up ranch and range. They got as far as the Palo Duro and 
were in camp and that night they lost their horses and they 
had to lay up to find them. One day Charley came to a man's 
camp on the head of the Palo Duro. The man was alone and 
he asked Charley his business, Charley answered that he was 
hunting his horses. The man inquired what further business 
he had in that vicinity, Charley replied that he and his part- 
ner were hunting a place to run some cattle. The man offered 
to help find the horses, and saddled two ponies and started out. 
On the way, he told Charley there was a good location further 
down on the Palo Duro at the Newell ranch. (This was where 
we finally squated and Newell was the man who killed the 
young buffalo hunter for his horses and money.) 

The man inquired where Charley's partner was. He told 
him back on the trail in camp. After a day's riding they found 
the horses and returned to camp. Charley started on towards 
camp where the wagon was when the man called him back and 
said, "Dog gone it, go and get your outfit and move up close to 
my camp and stay a few days, I'm awful lonesome." They did 
so and remained several days. This man was A. C. Myers, the 
buffalo hunter and merchant. Hannah has just recently 
written me of his experiences with this man, and his opinion 
of the character of this pioneer and pathfinder, he writes in a 
letter November 20, 1921, as follows : — 

"The A. C. Myers, that Billy Dixon speaks of in his book, 
is the same man that Charley and I met on the head of the Palo 
Duro. He lived on the ranch that Tyler afterwards owned. 
(Tyler, Joe Arnold, Charley Shidler and I made the drive on 
the trail with a herd of cattle from the Trimintina in New Mex- 
ico in 1880 or 1881). He was a prince of a good fellow and 
a rare character in every respect. Myers built the trading 
post at Adobe Walls. At that time he was in business in 
Dodge. The troops that followed up the Indians after the 
Adobe Walls fight destroyed all of Myers' goods and buildings; 
and it broke him financially, so that he had his creditors take 
the Dodge store and he settled on the Palo Duro, and never 
went back to Dodge to live. All of the cattle men were his 
friends and one of the outfits let him have fifty good heifers 
and two bulls for a start. I think they gave them to him, and 
with good care he was able to sell out for a nice little stake, and 
went to Durango, where he became a prosperous citizen. One 
time I saw him kill eleven buffalo at one stand. We rode to- 
gether and he told me that he killed as many as fifty buffalos 
at one stand." 

OUR LOCATION ON THE PALO DURO 
Our ranch was known in the buffalo times as the Newell 
Ranch or Place and was not of the ordinary kind. For in- 
stance the house was not of the dug-out variety but was built 
with fanciful and fantastic designs in mud and with a window 

110 



and a perfectly tight dirt roof. It was truly well arranged and 
had all of the conveniences of the modern bungalow. For ex- 
ample we had the flour bin under the parlor table, so that we 
could easily unscramble the harness and saddles when we re- 
quired flour to bake a batch of bread. What few horse hairs 
and pieces of saddle blankets that happened to remain in the 
flour did not affect the appetites of the fellows when the "pan" 
(bread) was taken from the dutch oven and reached the table. 
We were very proud of, and In fact were the only ones on the 
creek who could afford to have a carpet. It was composed, of 
gunny sacks laid on the dirt floor and of varying layers. When 
the layers got too thick it was the duty of the boss housekeeper 
to peal off the top layer, take it to the prairie and shake out 
the "dust of ages." Our plumbing and water system was the 
talk of the country. We did not belong to that improvident class 
who were compelled and seemed to be contented to drink from 
the odorous' water hole. We had a well and a pump with a 
handle and a spout and the water would splash on the ground 
from the spout just like it would on the prairies of Indiana, 
It's true enough the water was so alkili that one's stomach 
would double up so that you would expect your belly band to 
split any time of the day or night. 

Most of the resident houses were of the dug-out type, and 
we want to say some of them were truly works of design. They 
had the advantage, if modesty and retirement was intended and 
desired, in not being seen, as usually they were built in side a 
steep bank, close to a water hole, there was difficulty in even 
discovering the entrance. Paddy O'Neil, a neighbor, had 

-things so near at hand that he could sleep with his feet in the 
Are place and his head in the flour bag. 

This Newell Ranch had a very unsavory reputation given 
it by the man who established it and developed it as a buffalo 
hunting headquarters and who was a murderous outlaw and 
used buffalo hunting as a blind. His name was Newell. 

Charley Seringo has written me recently and gives me a very 
graphic account of one of this man's dastardly deeds. He 
says : "In '77 I put up with Newell, who had just killed a 
young hunter by the name of Cartright, to get his money and 
ponies, so I was told. He later drove the horses to Colorado 
and sold them. Newell told me that he killed Cartright be- 
cause he insulted his pretty little Spanish wife. I saw Cart- 
right's fresh grave in a clump of hackberry trees between 
Newells and Cators." (We never saw this grave.) Not until 
two years ago (1919) when Jim East wrote me the facts, did I 
know that Cartright's old mother lived for ten years in Tascosa 
and died of a broken heart, trying to find out where her son 
was buried. She had been told in Dodge City that he was 
killed in the Pan Handle. I could have told her all about the 
matter had I known of it." 

We have known all of the cattle men of those times, in 
that section— Doc Day on Wolf Creek, Slaughter on Coldwater, 
Charles Goodnight on the Palo Duro creek, Col. Littlefield, Jack 
Hardesty, Clay Allison, and many of the Buffalo Hunters among 
which were the Cator brothers, just over from England 
and good sports. Their ranch was just above us on the Palo 
Duro. One of the bright and relieving experiences during the 

111 



winter on that classic stream was the Christmas box sent from 
ol' Indiana, from whence everything in the food line has that 
peculiar and familiar taste that all Hoosiers appreciate. This 
box was filled to the brim with those wonderful fruit cakes, 
those splendid jars of jam, and those big cans of marmalade,, 
which Aunt Cordelia (Charley's mother) and my mother knew, 
by their mother's love and instinct would just please the "boys 
out yonder." After the arrival of said box there was a gener- 
al invitation extended to all of the friends on the creek. Among 
the guests on that beautiful Christmas celebration were the 
Cator boys, Bob and Jim, and their sister — the sister was the 
only woman in that country outside of the Canadian country 
and she sure did have a good time all the time, as the cow 
punchers would ride for many miles in order to make their 
calls and win a little feminine favor. She became a proficient 
horse woman and she and her "Pinto Caballo" were familiar 
sights up and down the Palo Duro creek country. 

An old time cow puncher who knew Miss Cator and her 
Irish maid writes me this little history and incident connected 
with their first experience in a wild Cow Country, the Pan 
Handle, on the Palo Duro. He says, "It does me good to hear 
from Miss Cator." (I had written him previously that I had 
gotten in communication with her, and we had developed an in- 
teresting correspondence, she living then at Bentonville, Ark.) 
"Here is a piece of unwritten history about her : — A few weeks 
after her arrival from England in the Pan Handle, in the late 
winter of '77 or the ?pring of '78, I stopped at the Cator Ranch 
over night. We were seated at the table eating supper when 
two pretty young women ran into the dining room all excited, 
having just come in from a long ride horse back. One was 
Miss Cator and the other was the Irish lassie, whom Bob Cator 
or Jim Cator married afterwards. They both smelled to 
Heaven with the odor of skunk perfume. The Irish maid said, 
'Oh, say! We saw the prettiest little striped animal and tryed 
to catch him. It stunk all over us.' " 

We had occasion to go into Dodge once and it happened 
that a rig drove up to the ranch one day and it proved to be a 
buck board to which was hitched a team of mules and was in 
charge of two of Col. Littlefield's Cow Punchers. They, also,, 
were bound for Dodge. They invited me to join them. I did 
so and we all piled in and headed north. On our last stage 
before we reached Dodge we camped on Mulberry creek. This 
place was always considered the last drive on the trail and it 
was a magnificent cattle park, where all herds were held for a 
few days in order to condition them, "slick them up a little,' r 
and gentle them preparatory to entraining them for the great 
Metropolis. 

We of course turned our mules loose that night, expecting 
that good mules like they were supposed to be would stay close 
to camp, but in the morning they were gone, and the next day 
they were gone and the day following they were gone and final- 
ly we abandoned the search and the camp and caught a ride into 
Dodge. I have often wondered whether or not the Col. ever 
got his mules. 

The most amusing and the man that could furnish more 
good stories than all of the cattle men was Jack Hardesty. After 



forty years I call to mind the following: Jack had a cook on 
■one of the round-ups whose ways of cooking did not suit the 
.epicurean tastes of Jack, besides he despised him on general 
principles. Realizing that he could not lick him himself he 
hired one of the biggest cow punchers he had to undertake the 
job. The arrangements were made and opportunity was only 
wanting. One day at dinner while the cook was stooped over 
fixing the Dutch Oven full of dough the hired fighter came 
into camp and walked up to the Dutch Oven and kicked it over, 

and said, "What the H you got there." The cook raised 

up with his trusty club, which he always seemed to have near, 
.and said, "Bread you cayote," and then and there knocked him 
down. As Jack edged up to see the outcome of the fight the 
cook pulled his gun and ran Jack behind a big cottonwood tree. 
After that the vituals seemed unusually good to Jackie, and he 
just loved the chef. 

We have seen the killing, or rather the slaughter, of the 
last herd of buffalo that was ever in the Pan Handle of Texas. 
This occured at the crossing of the Cimmaron river, in No 
Man's Land, where we stayed all night at a "stopping place" 
run by Rob Ray and a man by the name of Crawford, who had 
a part of his feet frozen off — both expert hunters; where the 
squirrel whiskey would make you pitch some, and the sow belly 
would sear your throat as it went down, and the bread would 
.sour a swill barrel, and where the imbibitory cow boys would 
assemble, and gargle a few slugs from that old bottle behind 
the bar, the contents and composition of which no man knew 
whereof he drank, but could plainly see on the lable "Old Jor- 
dan," consequently it was all right, and where he would play 
a little stud poker, and then as a parting night cap would hi- 
lariously shoot out the lights and depart, leaving the ever ring- 
ing yip as a parting memory. 

In the early morning they called to us that there was a 
herd of buffalo off some four or five miles and to follow them, 
not too close. They soon got within range and opened-up 
with their big guns, killing eleven full grown buffalo. We 
skinned them, stretched the hides and Ray took the meat to 
Dodge and sold it. 

DODGE— AS SHE WAS 
We have seen Dcdge City when everything was wide open 
and the boys were allowed as many guns on their persons as 
they thought they needed. And, we have been there after 
the authorities would disarm the boys when they got within 
the city limits, and it seemed to an observing man that the kill- 
ings did not seem to diminish much, as you know if a cow man 
makes up his mind to "get his man" there is no stopping him. 
I have visited Boot Hill, a cemetery at the edge of the city, 
where there were twenty-six men buried with their boots on, 
and no one knew just how many were buried there with their 
boots off. We have been in the city when it was no uncom- 
mon sight in the early morning twilight to see two or three 
"undesirables" strung along the girders of the old wooden 
bridge across the Arkansas River. We have seen the Red Star 
Dance House shine for an indefinite period. We have been 
present when some big, lumbering gambler would get " his all", 
and some of the "swops" would drag the body out to the side 

JJ3 



walk and then go" "on with the dance," and let "joy he uncon-* 
fined." 

We have been in Dodge when the great Earps, Bat Mas- 
terson, Doc Holliday and many other boisterous characters 
held forth, and at times would either clear the muddy waters; 
or rile. same. We have been at Keley's Place, on Whiskey Row, 
where he had a big Cinnamon Bear chained to a post in front of 
his saloon, and I have seen the boys buy the beer in order to 
have the bear sit on his haunches, drink from a bottle, and act 
and behave just like any other human being would by getting 
tipsey and quarrelsome. 

I don't know that Kelly was any more of a Bandit Saloon 
keeper than some of the rest of them, but the main idea was in 
those days to get the cow boys' money away from him as quick- 
ly as possible, either by overcharging him for his drinks, short 
changing him or gambling, and sometimes by plain and broad 
day robbery. The reason for this, aside from the gain, was 

to put the boys Hors de Combat as quickly as possible and get 
him out of town post haste. He might kill some one. A story 
which was going the rounds, might be applicable to Kelly and 
some of the other bandit saloonists in Dodge at that time and 
it can be related as taking place in Kelley's joint as well as any 
other. A young Irish lad, a Cow Boy, from some where, threw 
a dollar on the counter and called for whiskey. Kelley set out 
the bottle, put the dollar in the drawer and threw a quarter in 
change on the bar. The boy took his two-bits and walked out. 
Presently he came back and walked up to Kelley and said, "Pat, 
do you want to buy a horse?" Pat looked at him curious and 
replied, "No! What the devil would I do wid a horse." The 
boy, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "Jesse James had a horse." 

If the reader should care to be familiar with or would be 
at all interested in some of the carrying ons, as pulled off at 
Dodge in the halcyon days, I would recommend that they read 
the "Log Of A Cow Boy," by Andy Adams, the "Sunset Trails," 
by Alfred Henry Lewis, which is a truthful and fascinating 
protrayal of the old days on the trail, the local times and in 
towns like Dodge, Caldwell and other cow towns. 
THE BATH AGE 

On our way to the Wagon Wheel Gap in Colorado to take a 
bath in '78, Charley and I stopped at Del Norte and stayed all 
night with Charley's uncle, Gabriel Shideler. We also had the 
opportunity of meeting U. S. Sen. Tom Bowen, who had just 
come into his own by selling his mine called the "Little Annie" 
for a large sum of money and by reason of his newly acquired 
affluence was elected Senator for the short term, while Tabor 
was elected for the long term. Bowen up to that time had 
had many rocky roads to travel but when he got rich he was 
truly grateful to all of his friends, who had supported him 
and kept trials and tribulations from his door. About the 
time we were there he was beginning to pay back the boys 
whom he recollected that he owed. One night he gave a party 
and as the most of them were hilariously inclined things were 
moving along humorously and decorously. All at once Tom 
grabbed one of the boys and threw him on the floor and seem- 
ed to be fumbling at the fellows head. When he arose the fel- 
low had a $100.00 bill stuffed in his ear. Tom took them one 

114 




PUBLIC SQUARE, DEL NORTE, COLORADO. 

In the Public Square of the beautiful little city of Del 
Norte, for the convenience of any thirsty visitor is this pic- 
turesque and artistic Well House. Inside it are two deep ar- 
tisian wells, each impregnated with different minerals, salts 
and tastes, and both of high medicinal properties. In this 
picture, taken September, 1921, reading right to left, Mrs. Sam 
Hanna and Sam Hanna, of Howard, Kan., Charles Shideler of 
Rifle, Colo., 0. S. Clark, Attica, Ind„ Mrs. Chas. Shideler, and 
Miss Ruth Scott 



115 



at a time and went through the same performance, one fellow/ 
receiving a $1,000.00 bill in his ear. There was not a single 
disappointed person — Tom owed 'em all. 

We remember a thrilling incident, at this place, in the 
bath age, 1:1 '78. Time was going a little slow and we ran 
across a herd of burros down on the river which needed riding, 
we thought. Charley and I each selected a good one and 
mounted for a little ride. They did not buck, strange, since 
everything in that country does buck, even the hunter with his 
first deer gets buck ague. These ancient steeds, with their 
biblical names and apparent religious disposition, started 
down the trail uncomparasoned and unbedecked with any 
saddlery or bridlery raiment, and we riders were unarmed ex- 
cept with a good size cotton wood club as a prode. The Rio 
Grande River at that place was quite wide and Mr. Burro 
thought they just had to cross the river in its widest place. We 
thought so, also, we couldn't do otherwise. When we arrived 
at the middle and the water commenced to reach our belly band, 
our even minded and calm dispositioned mounts stopped and 
looked at the scenery, which was really charming to an ob- 
servant burro. I pride myself on my persuasion powers and 
at once commenced the practice of this art and culture, for 
the principle reason that daylight was disappearing quite fast,- 
the burros were immovable, however, and held themselves like 
a marble statue, when lo! our clubs came in action. The 
whacks echoed up the the gulchs and the welts were raised on 
their hurricane decks, but not an inch did they give. After 
great effort and an occasional spell of persuasion and alternate- 
ly a spell of whacks and bad temper we commenced to yell help !' 
Praise be a lone Cow Puncher shows up and with great speed 
and a true eye he threw his lasso over the neck of Charley's 
charming steed and literally pulls burro and Charley out to dry 
land. The same process got me to "the beautiful shore" and 
we could truly sing "what a gathering there will be." 

OUR EXPERIENCES WITH THE CATTLE RUSTLERS 
Somewhere in New Mexico the trail led into a most beauti- 
ful vega, where the green grass was still virgin and uncropped. 
The cattle being skin poor, it was impossible to drive them 
through it without their continually stopping to feed, so we de- 
cided to turn them loose and let them fill up. The boys all 
went under the mess wagon for a little sleep and I went on the 
wagon to keep an eye on the scattering herd. We had all of 
us composed ourselves and were taking things easy and having 
dreams and inspirations of happier days, when I noticed a tiny 
speck of a dust cloud approaching. When it had arrived it 
surrounded an old crippled wagon, hitched to two pinto cayu- 
ses, with an angry, red faced, galvanized greaser in the front 
seat. He was promiscuously, and unreliably, and nervously 
pointing a big Winchester in my direction. He shouted, in 
what I thought was a very commanding and audacious voice, 
"Get off my land." Being in favor of the League of Nations, 
and of a neutral disposition, I, of course, endeavored to calm 
him with some soft voiced explanations, but he became quite 
unruly and so boisterous that one of the boys (Charley Shide- 
ler) was aroused, and crawling from under the wagon, he arose, 
half asleep, with a gun in each hand, and shouted, "Get out of 

116 



here you d , trifling greaser." He got, going down the 

vega, with his gun rattling in the front end of the wagon, his 
hat off and larraping the caballos with an old black snake. We 
at once realized that we too had better "pull our freight", and 
had best hit the trail again. 

After a hard drive the balance of the afternoon we reached 
a very rough country through which the trail led, and being 
late in selecting a camp site, we drove until almost dark. While 
the cattle were strung out we noticed a slight commotion in a 
part of the herd and upon investigating we found that five or 
six of them were mipsing. We figured that some fellow, with 
help, had slipped into the herd and cut out five or six head and 
the same had completely disappeared. We could do nothing 
that night in a strange country, so we held up the herd the 
next day and rode the country in every direction, but we could 
not even get a trail on them. The cattle rustler was running 
true to form, and our "humbre" of the vegas was richer by five 
or six stGGrs. 

A LITTLE RECREATION IN LAS VEGAS, NEW MEX. 

After our purchase of cattle on the Trimintena, and we 
had started them on the trail, a couple of the boys could not 
resist the temptation of going into Vegas for the last and best 
highball, etc. The rest of us took the herd on, with their 
agreement to come cut to the herd sometime during the night. 
As was the custom, they were disarmed by the authorities as 
they entered the city limits of that chaste and at that time 
supposed to be, doci'e city. The boys found what liquor they 
thought they could hide and about midnight called for their 
horses and their guns. They mounted and hit the main street 
on the run. In passing the hotel Joe's hat blew off and one of 
the guests of the hotel seeing it on the ground decided to curry 
a little favor with a real cow boy, and started to pick it up and 
present it to the rider. Joe sized him up quickly and saw at 
once that he was evidently a dude and a choice specimen of 

the tender-foot class. Joe yelled, "Lay off the hat you d , 

soft boiled tender-foot." He, the dude, with trembling legs 
and some active footracing, ran up on the steps of the hotel, 
and Joe, who was of the bon ton when it came to riding, start- 
ed away back of the hat and put the spurs to his horse and 
came down the street like a whirlwind. When near the hat 
he dropped and picked it up on the full run. Charley and Joe 
then put the spurs to their horses and made a run out of town, 
shooting and yelling. They finally reached the herd and 
succeeded in creating a small stampede with the cattle, but 
finally lit and retired. We stood double guard that night, 
and had not participated in any of the frolics either. 

A description of a wild and unusual scene some miles from 
Buffalo Gap as partly described in Billy Dixon's book: — 

The trail, somewhere in the Pan Handle had been leading 
up a very slight and almost imperceptible incline for some days 
and in the darkening twilight we reached the line where the 
circling horizon touched the pale blue skyline. We tipped 
over the edge. LOOK! Our eyes met the vista of thousands 
and tens of thousands of leagues — an empire, a world, primi- 
tive and wild, untouched by man, except the Indian and the 
buffalo hunter. This magnificient and awfully huge panorama 

11-7 



and moving picture was shaped and had the resemblance and 
appearance of a world-sized saucer. The colorings started 
from the outer rim, resembling the lighter shades of green and 
darkening to the center, where there was reposing a tiny, 
bright, dazzling and shimmering lake. We started down 
quickly and reaching the edge soon, we noticed the water com- 
pletely covered with wild geese and ducks, so thick it was im- 
possible to even throw a stone in the water without hitting one. 
On the other side of the water was a band of Antelope, twenty- 
five or thirty, who had evidently just come in for water. Our 
larder was empty. One of the boys, claiming to be the best 
shot, took the Winchester and fired. He knocked one down, 

but looking around in astonishment he said, "H , I did not 

shoot at that one." We as friends did not care so much for 
the one he shot at, but were more interested in the one he had 
hit. More pictures were to come. Away off in the gloaming 
there appeared a band of wild horses, led by a big, black, ma- 
jestic stallion, and breaking in a wild drive for the outer edge 
of this huge saucer, LOOK AGAIN! In the opposite direction 
in the scintilating, western light, silhouetted against the shim- 
mering sun waves, appears a good sized herd of buffalo, led by 
the bull who is preparing to give the signal for the ineffable 
stampede. They too are off and away. Now comes the bands 
of range cattle, in herds of tens and hundreds, seeking, appar- 
ently, to tame and temper this primeval scene. They too, get 
the signal, and with a snort are off to other pastures, where 
man may not disturb and throw the fears of capture into them. 
This scene, taken as a whole, certainly was as wild as one could 
wish and needed but the Indian and the buffalo hunter to take 
their places in the flys and thus complete the stage setting. 

OKLAHOMA 

We made the first run to the first opening in Oklahoma in 
April 1889. We arrived on the line at three o'clock in the 
morning at a squaw man's place, expecting to make the run in 
our own wagons. We immediately discovered that the other 
fellows had race horses and cow ponies. We cut our horses 
out of the harness and at noon when the soldiers fired the sig- 
nal to run, we pulled out bare backed. It's thirty years since, 
and I am just beginning to get over the effects of that ride. It 
was weeks before I could eat off a table. We rode for the town 
site of Kingfisher. The lots we got were left for safe keeping 
in the hands of a good and true Knights of Pythias brother, 
who was to keep all "jumpers" off. We had not reached the city 
limits, which was on the first day a place of 3000 inhabitants, 
until our brother had jumped them. We redeemed them and 
again left them in charge of a good honest man, and they were 
jumped by the custodian. We realized that it would keep us 
on the road too long to chase the jumpers off so we sold our 
equity. I presume today those lots have elegant sky-scrapers 
built on them. 

CHANGE OF LOCATION 

Finally on another trip to the San Luis valley my partner 
and I decided to go a little further west for a location. We 
crossed the mountains and stopped at and around Durango. It 
was arranged there, however, that he should go still further 
west toward the setting sun, as he expressed it, the older coun- 

113 



tries seemed to be getting more crowded all the time and the 
new civilization was cramping and disturbing to an old cow 
man veteran. He went into Utah, and I and one of the other 
boys faced about, left Durango and back-tracked towards Ala- 
mosa. As we passed through Pagosa Springs, a most wonder- 
ful and unusual hot water resort, there was brought into town 
a man who had just been killed by a bear. It was surprising to 
us, that as soon as we reached the outskirts of the town, how 
many bear tracks we could see and all fresh too. After travel- 
ing a day or two along a most beautiful tumbling turbulent 
mountain stream, where the bright spotted trout would flip 
their tails at you and say "ta ta", and the hills were complete- 
ly covered by cedars and pines, from which the green never 
comes off, summer or winter, and the grass sparkled and shown 
through the early morning sun and frost. We came to an 
open park studded here and there with big pines, and shortly 
we heard a great bombardment of shooting and as we got closer 
we realized that we were within the target line of some two or 
three hundred Indians, to whom Uncle Sam had just issued a 
lot of new rifles, and child like the Indians had to immediately 
try them out in our presence, and proximity in order to see just 
how close they could come to hitting us without actually punc- 
turing our hides. 

Fortunately we dodged all of the bullets that came our 
way, but as we undertook to cut their acquaintance and get out 
of their careless and unprecautious endeavors, all at once, in 
squads of twenty-five or thirty they came pounding down the 
hard road, with one big buck, who had a face like a buffalo bull 
and a voice like a seven year old bull frog, in the lead, shout- 
ing, what sounded to us like, "show up your ponies." That de- 
mand took the. most of the heart beats away from me, as I 
thought they were going to take our horses from us and set us 
afoot, but my companion, Joe Shock, an old timer who could 
swear forty proof and then some, lit into them and after con- 
siderable of a row we discovered that they really meant "swap 
your ponies" instead of the first expression. As we were not, 
just at that moment keen or capable of doing ourself justice in 
a horse trade, we planned to get away in as becoming a manner 
as possible, and noticing that some of them had venison tied 
on behind them, we conceived the notion that we must at once 
buy some meat. We purchased a good sized saddle of deer 
and did not hagle over the price either. We departed in what 
seemed to us a calm, casual and becoming manner, expecting 
any time to change our attitude, and our pretended unconcern 
to one of precipitousness and make a run for it. 

Since this experience we have heard many thrilling bear 
stories and the following will appeal to many of the old timers 
and perhaps to some of the young fellows who have hoped, some 
time in their life, to become real, for sure Bear Hunters. This 
little story, like most bear stories, might be true, and no doubt 
will take its little niche on the great bear statue, as a truthful 
and reliable bear story. It was told by an old hunter. Teddy 
Roosevelt you know was a bear hunter. 

Two hunters were in camp one day, when whoff ! a big bear 
jumped into the circle. One of the fellows landed in a tree 
and went up it like a coon. The other could not climb a tree 

119 



in time, so it was a race around a big cedar. Around they 
went, the gravel hitting the bark and his coat tails extended. 
The fellow in the tree yelled, "Run d — it run." With redoubl- 
ed efforts the fellow dug in and tryed to out-foot the bear and 
just as he was about to blow up and the bear swished around 
the tree again, the fellow in the tree again yelled, "Run d — you 
run." The fellow could barely get breath enough to yell back 
at him, as he started on another lap, and with a despairing look 
and with weak voice, he choked out the words: — "Hell! do you 
think I'm throwin' this race?" 

Another of the same kind of truthful bear stories comes 
to my mind. It was told to me by Bear John of Mamm Creek, 
Garfield County, Colorado. John had all of the truthful char- 
acteristics and instincts there was in that county, in fact he 
learned this virtue from Teddy Roosevelt when he took Teddy 
up on Divide Creek, close to the Little Blue Hen Church and 
showed him how to kill a real, for sure bear, in the year 1908, 
near Charley's ranch. John absorbed all the truthful and 
authentic bear stories from Teddy that there was and that left 
Teddy pumped dry. John said that one time two fellows were 
going across a field and a bull took after them. The nimbler 
one reached safety in a tree. The other one looked around 
for a place to light for protection. He noticed a good sized 
hole in a hill. He made for that confidently and swiftly, the 
bull at his heels. He plunged in to the cavern and immedi- 
ately plunged out, with fear on his face. The bull again 
charged him. Again he jumped into the cave, when lo! out 
he came again. This performance lasted some little time. The 
man shuffled back and forth on high, with the bull and his 
engine racin'. At last the fellow up the tree yelled, "You idiot! 
Why don't you stay in the hole?" The chasee, with fear in his 

voice, and a trembling in his legs, yelled back. "You d fool. 

there's a Bear in the hole." There's a place here for a little 
moralizing. Some times we criticise when people do not re- 
spond and many times fail to help in some charitable way with 
donations or they fail to pay their assessments for the preach- 
ers upkeep, resent patronizing the church suppers, etc. Did 
you ever stop to think that there might be a "bear in the hole." 
They may be poor in their homes and have many afflictions, 
sickness, helpless cripples or ill dependents. Let's be kind 
and charitable to them and not press them into something that 
is a physical impossibility for them to provide. Be more char- 
itable ourselves, until it hurts. 

THE BULL WHACKER 
Has the reader ever had the extreme pleasure and serene 
satisfaction of driving and working with a bull-headed, strong- 
minded team of oxen?? If you say no, please do not endanger 
any religous sentiment that you may have by learning the art 
of whacking bulls — we have had our little experience and know 
when we have enough. 

Somewhere in the Apache country of New Mexico, while on 
the trail with a herd of cattle, we were short of horses and 
bought a couple of Mushaways to be driven to the mess wagon, 
which would release a couple of saddle ponies of which we 
were badly in need. 

At once the other boys decided that I, being of a patient and 

120 



unruffled disposition, should be chief chariot driver and the 
grandiose bull whacker, and I accepted the job with a full un- 
derstanding with myself as to just how I was going to do it. 

I had observed that in order to get full duty and efficiency 
out of an ox team you had to "treat 'em rough." After a day 
or two I noticed Sam, one of my partners, was inclined to be 
a little cynical, and he commenced to criticise the manner and 
mode of my handling the bulls, intimating that my policy of 
rough treatment was inhuman and brutal. 

On that particular day, as usual, we turned the herd loose 
and unhitched the oxen, while the noon day lunch was prepar- 
ing. After dinner Sam made the announcement he would 
drive the oxen and that Charley and I could take the herd, re- 
marking he would certainly show us how "by treating 'em 
kind, and using gentle persuasion instead of clubs and the long 
handled whip, bulls like they were could be taught to lie down 
and get up just like a trained dog. Charley and I rounded up 
the herd and started them on the trail, glancing back once in a 
while. We could hear some soft chuttering and persuasions 
as he confidently placed the yoke on his shoulders and called to 
Mushaway and Buck to get under. They hesitated as they 
noticed a strange driver. Finally, Presto, and they are yoked. 
Now comes the artful science of hitching the team to the wagon 
tongue. Sam drives them up to the wagon with gentle cau- 
tion and some fear — they break way — again he almost gets 
them to the wagon, and then once more they are gone. Sam 
has altered his disposition and his mode somewhat, and we hear 
a little something that sounds like swear words. Presently he 
commences the chase in deadly earnest and with menacing ges- 
tures and, lo, he has a club. This time the bulls break for the 
timber and crash through the undergrowth and are soon out of 
sight. Sam is prostrate and full of heat and hate. Had we 
been close enough to have touched his flaming face we would 
have gotten a seventy-five kilowatt shock. He was speechless 
with hate and silent with chagrin. He dropped to the ground 
and commenced vigorously to pull grass. We took another 
glance backward as we went on and called back to him, "Treat 
'em kind Sam and they'll come back." That night there was a 
different man came into camp. The new driver, with fire in 
his eye, was perched on the spring seat, with his black snake 
and his clubs and his prods close by and he wasn't treating 'em 
kind either. 

My partner afterwards returned to Colorado on the White 
river. He has stayed with his trade ever since and gotten 
rich. I came east and have been making a living ever since 
selling a little money through the grill of a bank window. 
About every two yews he sends me a little sprig of sage brush 
from Rifle, Colo., and by the way this Rifle towii has a Win- 
chester Hotel, and I presume that it is in Cannon county, I 
know there are lots of "Colts" there because it is somewhat of 
a horse country; and I quietly sneak my grip from under the bed 
and go to him. I arrange to arrive about the time they pull 
off their annual rodeo, which is Apple Pie Day. They of 
course have wild horse riding, the Broncho Bustin', the ropin' 
and the racin', but to an old timer the riding and the roping 
does not seem to be as good as in the old days. It may be 

121 



however, that the horses are not so wild and the cattle not so 
peppy as they were forty years back. 

The writer's Grandfather, Samuel B. Clark, almost a cen- 
tury ago was one of the earliest settlers of Warren County, In- 
diana. At the first election held in the county he was elected 
as Associate Judge. After his term had expired, he probably, 
naturally, took up the duties of a Justice of the Peace, also 
becoming the counselor and advisor of his friends, and assisted 
in preparing legal papers, contracts, making out notes, etc. 

The writer has in his possession a speciman note in the 
form that was used in those early days. He starts with the 
date and fills in the words "One year after date I oromise to 
pay to John Smith, ON MY HONOR," etc. 

Billy Myers of Conejos County, Colo., had promised to pay 
to Sam Hannah and Charley Plowman, "on his honor," so many 
cows and their increase on a certain date. Billy was one of 
the big men and became prominent in his state, as also did 
Alva Adams, respectively Lieut. Governor and Governor of 
Colorado. 

Billy, at this particular time, had moved to New Mexico 
and had notified the boys that he was ready to make delivery 
and liquidate the debt. 

On a trip with our own cattle it was arranged that we 
branch off the main trail and go past the Myers ranch and pick 
up the cattle and then proceed to the Pan Handle. One day 
when we all thought that we were in close proximity to the 
ranch, Sam offered to take the mess wagon and proceed to 
Billy's place and there wait for us, and have supper ready when 
we arrived. We punched the cattle along leisurely until late 
in the afternoon when we could see the outlines of the corrals 
and buildings. We arrived at the corral about dusk with the 
cattle and we had difficulty in getting them in. We were a 
little anxious, too, for the reason that we were all worn out 
with the loss of sleep and expected to have a good night's 
sleep if we could corral the cattle. Finally we succeeded in 
getting them all in but some three or four, and they became un- 
ruly and mad and wild. After some strenuous riding and 
chasing we got them back close to the corral and they at once 
saw Sam and his camp close to the corral fence. 

Sam had been promising us for several days some syrup 
made from sugar which he had been frugally saving for some 
time, and this was the night when he had a nice can of it pre- 
pared. 

The mad cows made for Sam and the camp. He made no 
attempt to dissuade the nasty things to stay out and not dis- 
turb a nuce orderly camp like that, but he at once took flight and 
hopped for the top pole on the corral fence. When we came 
charging down he was looking down on a somewhat disorgan- 
- ized camp and sadly spilled supper. He being of rather a 
swearing disposition, we have endeavored all of these years to 
forget just what all he called us, as it was awful. We recall 
however the pathetic and the plaintive tone of voice that he 
used after the explosion was over and when his flaming temper 

had gotten all of the blankity, blankity D words out, he 

directed our attention to the camp and whispered "Now, you 
d fools, look at them nice molasses.,' A mad cow had 

122 



spilled the "lasses", and gotten Sam all "het" up. 

We were assisted in rounding up the cattle to be delivered 
on Billie Myers' contract by John Frazier, an old time Cow Man 
from the San Luis Valley, and who was running some cattle 
with Myers on the share, in New Mexico. We are not sure just 
where that was, but think it was near the little town marked 
on the map as Springer. Frazier afterwards drifted to Kan- 
sas and Sam Hanna tells me he was killed in Howard County, 
Kansas. He, together, with others had brought up from Texas 
some native cattle and they arrived before the quarantine was 
out, consequently many of the herds in that country were in- 
fected with the Texas tick and there were great losses from 
the dreaded Texas fever. Cattle owners became enraged at 
John and threatened his life. He asked Sam what he had bet- 
ter do. Sam asked him if he was armed. He said, "No". Sam 
told him to at once get some guns. John said he guessed there 
was no danger and went home. That night he was killed. They 
found twenty or twenty-five knife wounds on him. Billie My- 
ers at this place hart the ideal cattle ranch. He was blessed 
with many sheltering gulches, splendid grass and an abundance 
of water. By building a stone fence across the neck of a vast 
scope of country he could enclose thousands of acres of land 
and thus keep his cattle at home without much riding. Billie 
Myers was an educated gentleman and while we were accepting 
of his hospitality on this trip, hundreds of miles from habita- 
tion, we noticed his iibrary contained many works of a scientific 
nature and many high class books of literature. We are told 
that he is still living and is at present located near Ft. Garland, 
San Luis Valley. 

SAM BASS, A VERY EARLY BANDIT 
Sam Bass seemed to be one of the most popular and de- 
serving outlaws that there was in the west and since he was a 
native of Indiana, we must boost him along a little by quoting 
a very popular Cow Boy song with Sam as the hero. We never 
met Sam although he was born at Mitchell, Ind. Here is the 
song. 

"Sam Bass was born in Indiana 

It was called his Native Home, 
And at the age of seventeen, 

Young Sam began to roam. 
He first went out to Texas, 
A Cow Boy for to be ; 
And a kinder hearted fellow 

You'd scarcely ever see." 
"Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May, 

With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see, 
Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree, 

A harder set of cow boys you seldom ever see. 
"On their way back to Texas they robbed the U. P. train, 

And then split up in couples and started out again, 
Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon, 

With all their hard-earned money they had to meet 
their doom. 
"Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care; 
Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to 
share, 

123 



Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do, 
He robbed all the passenger, mail and express cars 
too." 

THE HYROPHOBIA DANGER 

Thomas Bugsby. with his young wife, had his home ranch 
near Adobe Walls and there was born to them a girl baby — the 
only white child in that part of the country. Seringo states 
that she was called the "White Papoose" by the Indians. When 
about eight years old she was bitten by an Hydrophobia skunk. 
We knew of this case and remember that Mr. Bugsby had cut a 
hole in the bottom of the outside door in order to give the pet 
cat, belonging to his only child, ingress and egress to the house. 
During the night the skunk came through the hole and bit the 
little girl. After lingering several days she died a horrible 
death. There were no doctors short of Dodge City, 175 mile 
away. Of all of the dangers from being bitten or stung by in- 
sects we always feared the hydrophobia skunk, which seemed 
plentiful in the Pan Handle, and New Mexico. The prime 
danger was while sleeping on the plains at night, as we always 
feared they might bite while sleeping in camp on the ground. 
We never thought much of the dangers of the Taarantula, Cen- 
tipedes or other big spiders, although there were some fatali- 
ties from the bite of these pests. Rattle snakes we would kick 
out of our way, but the smell of a skunk sure made us scringe 
and cover up tight while in camp. 

THE GUN FIGHTER VS THE GUN MAN 

In all cattle countries the pioneer buffalo hunter, Indian 
fighter, and cow man was a Cosmopolitan cuss and the Pan 
Handle Country was no exception, where we were acquainted 
and associated with many and had heard of all of the different 
characters of what so ever disposition and reputation. Near- 
ly every one had killed his man. Not all of this class, how- 
ever, were murderers in any sense of the word. There was a vast 
difference between the "Gun Fighter" and the murderous "Gun 
Man". Some men we came in contact with had murder in their 
hearts for gain, and had robbed their victims. The honest "Gun 
Fighter" was usually picked on and taken advantage of and in 
many instances his adversary got the drop on him so that he had 
to shoot his way out. The true knight, a gallant Gun Fighter was 
almost a chivalrous individual, and often times would go so far, 
in a fight, as to let his adversary, if not so expert, to get some 
little advantage. Of course the most common killing was among 
the cow boys and the booze was the direct responsible factor. 
One of these boys would get loaded and draw his pistol and 
shoot at some one in the outfit, his best friend perhaps, claim- 
ing some fancied offense, and of course the other boy, in order 
to protect himself, would have to return the shots. As an il- 
lustration of the true knighthood of chivalry and showing how 
this feature was instilled and even taught in the young lads on 
the plains, it is told in a story in "A Lone Star Cow Boy" how, 
during a certain feud, where many on both sides of the factions 
had been killed, one of the leaders was riding along the road 
on a skittish horse. On the ground near by was sitting a 
twelve year old boy, eating his noon day lunch. Near by graz- 
ed his small band of sheep which he was herding. The boy's 
dog ran out and scared this feudists skittish horse. Then he 

124 



drew his pistol and billed the dog. Now the ooy sprang to his 
feet and, pulling his powder and ball pistol, opened fire on the 
killer of his dog, who at once began shooting at the boy. But 
his horse jumping around made his aim bad and untrue. The 
man emptied his pistol and shot his wad, while the boy with 
wisdom had only shot twice, and was taking aim for the third 
;shot. Here the man threw up his hand, which held the pistol 
and said, "Don't shoot, I'm empty." The boy replied: "All 
Tight, load up." Then the boy squatted down on the ground, 
and taking his powder horn from his shoulder proceeded to load 
the two empty chambers of his six shooter. The man replied 
as he rode away. "No I've got enough." He was wounded in 
the left hand by one of the boy's shots. Later the man reward- 
ed the boy for his cool bravery. As we have defined the differ- 
ence between the *;ool, brave and chivalrous Gun Fighter and 
the skulking, cowardly Gun Man for gain, we will mention some 
men of both classes, whom we either knew or had heard of in 
the Pan Handle. In the first class were such men as Clay Al- 
lison, a holy terror, but never the less a fearless man, and Lem 
Woodruff, who we think was more imposed on than an aggres- 
ror. He was the principle actor in the big gun fight at Tascosa 
iin 1886. Of Bat Masterson it can be said that he may never 
have taken advantage of another in a gun fight, although he 
was not liked by the cow boys, as they classed him as belonging 
to the gamblers gang. Bat was naturally prejudiced against 
the cow boys from the fact that his brother, while Marshal at 
Dodge was trying to disarm some cow boys, when one of them 
killed him. We do not think, however, that Bat was of the 
murderous, killing disposition. It was reported that he had 
killed twenty-eight men, which was a greatly exaggerated story. 
Of the other class who never killed only with murder in their 
heart and gain in their mind was the arch fiend, W. C. Moore, 
the foreman of the L. S. Outfit. In a few cases it used to be 
thought by some big outfits that it was necessary to hire "Man 
Killers" as cow boy riders, but we do not think that Messers 
Bates and Beal had this in mind when they hired Moore. This 
man was considered the greatest Cow Man in the country and 
many of the boys said they learned more about the cow busi- 
ness from him than under the directions and instructions of 
any other man, and yet he was a villianious and heartless mur- 
derer for gain. He betrayed his employers, wherever he work- 
ed. He first killed his brother-in-law in California and made 
his get-away to Wyoming; killed another and drifted to the 
Pan Handle on an old broken down pinto pony, hired to the L. S. 
outfit and immediately commenced to steal cattle from his ben- 
efactors and friends. He started his own herd from these 
stealings on the Cold Water, where we have camped many 
times. He sold his ranch and cattle, quit the L. S. and started 
another herd, in New Mex. His stay was short there as he 
shot and killed two men, supposedly for the reason that he 
wanted the range belonging to them. Charley Seringo ran 
across him in Alaska afterwards, where he was peddling whis- 
key under an assumed name. Charley recognized him readily 
because he had worked for him in the Pan Handle. Another 
villianious Gun Man, with murderous heart, was Newell, who 
killed the young buffalo hunter for his money and horses. 

125 



Newell was the man that had the ranch on which we located. I 
have mentioned this man in another part of the book. Of 
course the most uncompromising and reckless man killer in all 
the' west was Billy the Kid. He did it wantonly and without 
excuse. His murders, many of them, were for gain also, as 
he was. a horse thief and a cattle rustler and depended on sell- 
ing them for gain. The reader will note the chapter giving 
full account of his death and the end of his career, by Pat Gar- 
rett and John W. Poe, in another part of the book. 
A FELLOW COW PUNCHER 
Speaking more particularity of Claude Lindley, a boy I 
rode with a great deal ; my partner, Charley Shideler has re- 
cently told me something of his character and what became of 
him. In the summer of eighty, we, Charley and L made the 
trip from the Palo Duro, Texas, country to the San Luis Valley, 
Colo., to close out a remnant of cattle we still had there. We 
sold the cattle and decided to return to the Pan Handle. In 
the fall we met Claude Lindley at Ft. Garland, or to be exact, 
on Ute Creek. (This was where I parted with Charley and 
took two horses, "Old Baldy" and a grey horse, and made the 
trip alone, expecting to meet him some time later on the Palo 
Duro, in Texas.) Charley asked Lindley, after I had left them, 
to make the trip with him to Texas. He agreed and after fin- 
ishing a contract for putting up hay for the Post they started. 
During the putting up of the hay Lindley had a bad fight with 
Juan Igular. Claude was then about twenty years old, a quar- 
ter breed Indian, big, powerful, raw boned, long arms and big 
hands, and with a heighth of full six feet. He could speak 
Mexican better than he could his own language, he had a fine 
personality and the officers at the Post took quite an interest 
in him and trained him to be very proficient with the boxing 
gloves. Igular started the fuss, and jumped off the high hay 
stack and made for Claude like a wild bull. Claude braced 
himself, and told Juan that he was going to lick him. Juan 
said in Mexican "imbuckity," meaning "pitch in". When the 
Mexican advanced Lindley let him have one between the eyes. 
He lit on his head and the blood spurted as he lay on the 
ground, knocked out. Then eight or ten Mexicans jumped off 
the fence and came running over. Charley started to stand 
them off with a pitch fork. Claude jumped in front of him and 
told them he could lick the whole D bunch, and that stop- 
ped them. They washed Juan up and that night went down to 
the Fort to a "fandango", and met Tomisito Tobin and Billie 
Carson. (Tomisito was a son of Tom Tobin and Billie a son of 
Kit Carson, the great scout.) After they had danced a while 
they heard a shot outside and Tomisito and Charley went out 
to see what was up. Carson was standing a bunch of Mexicans 
off with a gun. Charley went back to call Lindley and found 
him in the corner, knocking the Mexicans down as fast as they 
came up. When Charley told him of the trouble outside, he 
knocked his way through the whole crowd, and they got on their 
horses and went home without a scratch. They started on 
their trip and had to go through some bad Mexican country and 
got into some trouble by Claude killing some Greaser's dog and 
after they had left the Plaza and camped, three Greasers came 
into their camp. Claude commenced to talk to them in Mexi- 

126 



<ean. One of the fellows called Charley out to one side and 
asked him if the other fellow wasn't a "Coyate" (that meant 
half breed.) Charley told him yes. He replied, he knew his 
"sangre per undi cure", meaning that he knew his own blood 
where ever he saw it The Mexicans finally left without start- 
ing anything. In some of the Mexican settlements the people 
were very menacing, and they found afterwards that 
they were lucky to escape some of the bad settlements. They 
went through Taos, New Mexico, and were directed from there 
to a short cut to Ft. Summer. (Near this Fort was where Pat 
Garrett and John W. Poe killed Billie the Kid.) They were 
met by a bunch of Indians who had never seen a spring seated 
wagon, and the Squaws took turn about in riding on the seat 
and having a good time, laughing and giggling. The Indians 
treated them civily and directed them correctly on their way 
to the Pan Handle, where we all finally met again. 

Mr. D. F. MeCarty, of Lipscomb, Texas, my writing friend, 
and who is generally producing something from a deft pen, 
and who has had a wide experience in almost all of the wilder- 
nesses of the great west, however not as a cow man, but as an 
expert miner, and who loves every castle crag, and gilded gulch 
therein, has written a most beautiful historic story of an Indian 
tragedy, not a fiction, but one in which he is familiar with the 
location and in knowing friends of some of the participants. 
He, in his generosity, offers this story to his friends for pub- 
lication, and in his modest way does not ask for any credit or 
gain I have advised him that he has, in this story, a most 
wonderful foundation for what could be made a beautiful and 
interesting historical novel, and that he has a splendid oppor- 
tunity to show his touch as an author, and that he is the cap- 
able writer to produce the story of "The Harringtons." 
"MISS HARRINGTON." 

In the early settlement of the San Pedro Valley in Arizona, 
at that time a hostile Indian country, there was established for 
the protection of the white settlers, then planning to move into 
that valley to make homes, a military post known as Camp 
Grant, the policy of the government being to subdue the In- 
dians and place them on a reservation, where they would be 
issued rations and otherwise provided for. In all they num- 
bered about 200, and were ruled over by a notorious Apache 
Ghief named Eskimezene, and were part of an outlaw band 
that formerly overran the whole San Pedro Valley country. 
The reservation as finally set aside for them, included a broad 
expanse of river bottom covered here and there with groves of 
cottonwood trees, and was one of the most beautiful spots along 
the course of the San Pedro River for many miles, and extend- 
ed from the military post down the east side of the valley for 
six or eight miles. Since the Indians were now confined to this 
reservation, the Government extended them the liberty of go- 
ing beyond it wherever they choose, so they did not interfer 
with the settlers, with the arrival of the whites, who shortly 
"began to move into the country. Camp Grant was abandoned 
and the soldiers removed. In the days I speak of and some- 
time after the departure of the soldiers, the Indians, who in the 
meantime had quieted down considerably, were ever ready to 
sweep the valley if molested, and as their presence remained 

127 



more or less of a menace to the white settlers, the Government 
was asked to remove them, but refused instead, and in an effort 
to appease their fears, the Government ordered the whites 
throughout the lower San Pedro to be supplied with arms and 
ammunition, believing they were now in sufficient numbers to* 
protect themselves. As a result of this order, a wagon load 
of 50 caliber Springfield rifles, that had gone through the Civil 
War, but discarded by the Government for the more improved 
45 caliber type of Springfield rifle, and several thousand 
rounds of ammunition, were distributed to the different settlers, 
and in every ranch house stood a stack of these rifles in the 
corner of some room, loaded in many instances, and ready for 
immediate use. Tried and true was the 50 caliber Springfield 
up to 300 yeards, while at close range it was the most deadly 
rifle ever made, up to that time. The space between the lower 
end of the Indian villages and where the San Pedro empties 
into the Gila River, was about twelve miles long, and was oc- 
cupied with various ranches, and a combination store, post of- 
fice and saloon, called Dudleyville. The country contiguous to 
the San Pedro River, became an important cattle range for 
fifty miles above its junction with the Gila, and there being no 
water on the range either side of it, cattle were forced to come 
in there every day or two to drink, and were thus easily taken 
care of. Heifers matured there and became mothers when 
only 18 months old, and cattlemen soon grew rich. Among the 
mora prosperous cattlemen there at that time was Dudley Har- 
rington, after whom the post office was named. Mr. Harring- 
ton, with his wife and family had traveled across the Texas 
plains to the San Pedro in wagons, and being well off when he 
arrived there, was not long in getting settled and building up 
a fine ranch, which was beautifully situated, in that the San 
Pedro river flowed through it. The house was built of adobe r 
and large, with loop holes in the walls for rifle fire, as was 
customary those days in the Indian country, and contained 8- 
or 10 rooms, with a wide covered passage way running through 
its center, and stood in a grove of cottonwood trees. Among 
Mr. Harrington's family at this time, was a daughter about 16 
years old, a remarkably fearless girl, and a good rider, who 
spent much of her time in the saddle looking after her father's 
cattle. She was slight build, and a blonde, and might weigh 
120 pounds, and was one of the best known and most admired 
girls in that valley. Across the river, a few hundred yards 
from the Harrington ranch, was the store and post office, where 
there always gathered on mail day, which came once a week, 
prospectors, miners, cow men and others, to the number of 15 
or 20, from the outlying sections, and was the only store with- 
in fifty miles of there. The Indians all traded there and more 
or less of them, with their squaws and children, were at the 
store every day and usually came down the east side of the 
valley, where the villages were located and crossed the river at 
the Harrington ranch, where, except in very high water there 
was always a foot bridge to cross on for those who came afoot. 
The comparatively few settlers who lived there, realizing how 
exposed they were to an Indian attack, should anything occur 
to arouse the Indians, carefully avoided giving cause for any 
such trouble, and to that end the Indians hid their natural re- 

128 



sentment towards the whites and remained at peace. It was 
under such conditions as these, that there happened one after- 
noon, in the Harrington home, a tragedy that threatened, not 
only the peace of the whole white settlement, but its destruc- 
tion as well. Among the Indians who frequently came to the 
store, and who never failed to call in at the Harrington ranch, 
was a big powerful Indian, with a bad reputation in his own 
tribe and a known murderer of his own people. He carried a 
deep scar across his face, extending from below the ear to al- 
most the chin, made apparently with a large knife in the hands 
of some Indian, who evidently tried to kill him. When he 
got drunk, as he occasionally did, the scar reddened perceptibly, 
and that, coupled with the drunken expression he bore, gave 
him a savage look — a hard proposition for Miss Harrington to 
battle with alone, but that is exactly what happened. 

This mail day that made the girl famous throughout Ari- 
zona, found her at home that afternoon doing the ironing. The 
room she occupied had but one doorway, and setting back from 
the entrance some distance and crosswise of it, was a long 
table, behind which she was ironing, while behind her in the 
corner, stood a stack of these 50 caliber rifles, all loaded. Pres- 
ently and unexpectedly the Indian with the big scar, drunk and 
smiling, stood in the covered passage way looking in at her. 
She never heard him, only saw him, and it terrified her, but she 
kept her nerve and presence of mind. She was alone at the 
ranch that afternoon, and knew it, and the Indian knew it also. 
Dreading the outcome, that she now felt was in store for her, 
unless she could escape, and that seemed a forlorn hope since 
the Indian was in the doorway. She ordered him away, think- 
ing he might move to one side and let her by, but he only 
laughed at her and started to come in. 

As he entered the room, and had almost reached the table, 
she picked up the hot iron she was using and threw it at him, 
a heavy and unwieldly weapon for a young girl to hurl with 
much force, but it, nevertheless, stopped him, and stopped him 
long enough to enable her to reach one of the big rifles, throw 
it down on him anu shoot him through the heart before he 
could close in on her. The Indian staggered back a few steps, 
then fell face down, across the doorway but within the room. 
She stepped lightly over his body and fled to the store where 
she found ten or twelve men, who were still there, and some 
Indians, and telling them what she had done, led them back to 
the ranch. When they viewed the dead Indian and were made 
acquainted with the circumstances that brought about his 
death, the gravity of the situation dawned on them, and couriers 
were dispatched up and down the valley to arouse the whites. 
The Indians who followed the crowd over, viewed their dead 
tribesman, and then hurriedly left the villages to notify the 
chief. The excitement among the settlers that afternoon be- 
came tense and expectant, and war, with possible extermina- 
tion in the back ground, seemed close at hand. When the news 
reached "Skimezene," he called his warriors together, and with 
a big band of them, hurried down to the Harrington ranch, ar- 
rived there, and leaving all but a few of his Indians in the river 
bottom among the cottonwoods, he strode into the dooryard of 
the ranch house, and addressing those who were there, told 

129 



them that if the dead Indian had been shot face to face with 
the girl, he would commend her for her bravery and proclaim 
it to the whole trib?, but if he had been shot in the back it 
would mean war. To that end, he approached the house and 
entered the room where the dead Indian lay, and found him just 
as he had fallen. — The girl, cool and self-possessed, stood there 
also, and in Indian speech, which she knew well, told him how 
the tragedy had occurred. 

He examined the jagged wound and torn flesh left by the bub- 
let as it passed through the Indian's back, and then turning 
the body over, face up, and finding the wound over the heart 
no larger than the bullet that made it, he was satisfied. He 
then faced the girl, and in his Indian tongue, praised her, told 
her that it was well, and that she was brave. 

Into a little wagon that evening, drawn by two Indian pon- 
ies, the dead Indian was placed, and followed by the warriors, 
who had come there to avenge his death, and who, in suspense, 
awaited the decision of their chief, upon whose findings, that 
afternoon, hung the fate of the white settlers, they moved away 
and returned to the villages, where, as became the Indian cus- 
tom to their dead, and as a fitting close to that afternoon's 
tragedy, there could be heard throughout all that night, to the 
beat of the tom-toms, the mournful death song of the Indians. 

Donald F. McCarthy. 
A SOLEMN, DESOLATE WASTE- 
We have lately been fortunate enough in having a friend 
send us some beautiful pictures of the wonderful phenomenon 
of these moving mountains of sand and accompanying same 
was a splendid article describing accurately and vividly, the 
grandeur of the great Sand Dunes lying at the foot of the Sanges 
De Christi Range of Mountains on the east side of the San Luis 
Valley. The gentleman who writes the article gives his name 
as Frank J. McEniry. 

I do not know the writer but take this means of giving him 
full credit for his excellent description and his writing talent. 
HISSING SANDS OF COLORADO'S "SAHARA" ONE OF THE 
WORLD'S GREATEST SCENIC WONDERS. 
"Shielded from the outside world by an almost insurmount- 
able barrier of towering snow-capped sentinels and low-lying, 
timber-clad mountain slopes to the north and east, and hugging 
the eastern border of the rich agricultural lands in the San 
Luis valley, beyond the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in 
southwestern Colorado, may be found the Sahara of Colorado, 
better described by the early pioneers and gold seekers of r he 
West as the "hissing sands." 

"This bit of Colorado, destined to become a world famous 
wonder and scenic attraction of the great West, in some re- 
spects even more spectacular than the great Sahara itself, is 
said to represent the largest inland shifting sand dune tract in 
the world. 

"Even to the untrained eye these sand dunes, awe inspir- 
ing and virtually expressionless, invariably present a vari-col- 
ored bit mysterious shifting scenery, continually changing 
with the lights and shadows. Their surface even, resembles a 
series of water effect ripples. In winter, when covered with 
just a little snow, they present a most unique setting, combined 

130 




A SOLEMN, DESOLATE WASTE. 
The Sand Dunes, of the San Luis Valley, Colorado, 



131 



with variable wreaths to lend a panorama unexcelled. Per- 
haps the first impulse would prompt the observer to scan the 
horizon in search of a camel train or an Arab's shelter tent. 

"A trip when made to these dunes in the early morning 
with the sun at one's back affords a general shimmering effect 
over the surface of the sand dunes, caused by the sun rays 
breaking thru the clouds of fine white sand as they are driven 
over the tract. 

"The strange hissing of the sand particles resulting from 
the swift but sometimes gentle breezes is indeed more than mel- 
ancholy noise to the understanding listener. 

"Depending on the changing direction and force of the 
winds, these dunes, which in some cases rise more than 1,500 
feet above the floor of the valley, are torn down and rebuilt, 
remodeled or shifted to a lower or higher area of the tract. 
Thru exposure to certain strong winds, these dunes are con- 
stantly changing their general topography, and frequently re- 
semble, in their billowy formations, scenes common to the ocean 
voyager during rough weather at sea. Naturalists and scien- 
tists willingly acknowledge their amazement at the rapid rate 
with which these dunes persistently climb and rebuild over 
their older and more turbulent formations. Even more aston- 
ishing, these same dunes have encroached upon the adjacent 
mountain slopes, in some sections to a considerable extent, thus 
burying century old trees and other interesting objects in their 
march toward pinnacles almost lost in the azure sea overhead. 

"To be caught in one of the brushing winds during a se- 
vere storm is something to be religiously avoided. Due to the 
comparative lowness of nearby mountain passes east and south 
of the dunes, occasional three-sided sand mountains are formed 
on the tract. Medano creek, which plays at the very edge of 
the mammoth sand pile area, is continually changing its course 
by reason of the sliding of large tracts of sand down into the 
creek bed below. Aften times loud crashes may be heard as 
these bulky sand tracts are swept down to a less elevated posi- 
tion. These crashes may frequently be heard night or day and 
sometimes a considerable distance away. 

"A few months have but to pass, when this same sand has 
again been lifted many hundreds of feet from the creek bed to 
the top of the dunes proper by the gigantic force" of the winds. 
A truck load of sand is on the crest of the dunes today and at 
the bottom, or on the creek bed tomorrow, or vice versa. Dur- 
ing hot summer months the stream sinks out of sight a short 
distance below the sand tract. Residents and ranchers of the 
Wet Mountain valley on the opposite side of the Sangre de 
Cristo range, have frequently complained, it is said, of sand 
storms — heavy winds, which carry fine sand particles up and 
over the dividing range. These said particles are swept across 
this lofty range, which in most places reaches a point well 
above 'timber-line.' The vast sand dune tract itself is in the 
very shadow of the Siera Blanca, the southernmost tower of the 
Sangre de Cristo range and the fifth highest mountain peak in 
the entire United States. 

"Plant life, incidentally, is the next thing to an impossibil- 
ity on this bit of mysterious shifting loyality. True it is, the 
nature worshiper here would miss the sarcastic chatter of the 

132 



chipmunks and magpies, both of which are well known to all 
Coloradoans. 

"De Zuldiver, who with a party or cavalry crossed the Sangre 
de Cristo dange from theSan Luis valley in 1598, traveling 
northward to a point at which Denver now is located, is said to 
have been the first white man to visit these dunes. They also 
mark the spot where Zebulon Pike was taken prisoner by the 
earlier stage turnpikes, constructed through Mosca pass to the 
north, under a charter grant of November 12, 1873. This orig- 
inal cross-country route has since been entirely obliterated by 
the severe winter weather of that section. The dunes them- 
selves are to be found a few miles north of the little town of 
Blanca, toward the upper bowl of the valley. 

"Pike with his small party of followers, ventured across 
the Greenhorn mountain range, southwest of Canon City, to the 
present site of Rosita, in January, 1807. He was later forced 
to abandon two of his party at the latter point, but continuing 
his journey to a point a trifle north of the dunes, he is accredit- 
ed with there raising the American flag for the first time in 
Colorado. He subsequently was forced to haul it down, how- 
ever, by the dominating Spaniards who caused his arrest -.id 
removal to the present site of Santa Fe, N. M." 

In closing we feel that the relating of a little story which 
was an actual occurrence will be appropriate and will describe 
fittingly the feeling of one who, at least should think of the 
hereafter that is to come. The story happened not so long 
ago, and in our town, and shows the quick and sparkling wit of 
the true Irish lad. One of the older citizens had been ill for 
a number of weeks and a good many inquiries had been made of 
Pat, who lived across the street from the sick man, as to the 
state of the sick man's health. Finally on the fateful day one 
of the town's people was passing Pat's house and as usual ask- 
ed Pat how Frank was, he replied, "Be God I think he is worse, 
I see the undertaker there." 

The time will come soon when we will reach that awful 
"worse" stage, and we can no longer hear the clarion call of 
the wild west, and can no longer carry the memory of the fam- 
iliar scenes, and we will have to leave to the younger genera- 
tion the thoughts of our early associations, our experiences and 
skirmishes with the Red Skins, our friendships with buffalo 
hunters, our acquaintance with the bad men, and our love for 
the Cow Man. May our genealogy please, be as devoted as we 
have been, and keep green these thoughts and memories, is the 
wish of a tottering father and grandfather. 

Finally with all of the experiences that I have had, and all 
of the information that I have gained, and the pleasure of meet- 
ing and associating with these old rugged, true and tested 
Plain's People, I have no regrets, but I do have an unmistakable 
longing for the great wide ways and the wild days, and at times 
I feel that I must satisfy that western streak that is in me and 
take my horse and go to those broad open prairies and mesas, 
and in the even tide when the Night Star comes up over the 
horizon and the gentle breeze waves the big headed gramma 
grass, then I must make down my bed with my saddle blankets 
and with no one in my presence but my horse and my God, sleep 
the just sleep of peace and contentment, and then when the 



133 



Morning Star breaks over the divide and the old battle scarred 
prairie dog sentinel shall commence his discordant signal bark- 
ing, and the whirring owl shall go to his rest and the deadly- 
rattle snake shall take his morning siesta, then I will have had 
my little satisfying outing and be prepared to return to the 
true and more civilized ways again. 

With a never forgetful admiration for all of thei exper- 
iences that I have had and with an everlasting feeling of awe 
and reverence, as I go down the Mountain Slope, I still revere 
those long, wide, billowy prairies, and may they roll on to times 
eternity. Here's to those grand old snow capped, timber lined 
castles and battlements. May their magnificence never fade, 
and finally here's to that old seared Cow Man, when he shall 
have reached that which is richer than riches and more preci- 
ous than jasper and feldspar, and when he shall take that long 
trail from which no Cow Man ever returns, and he shall reach 
the end of his journey, and he shall meet his Maker and his 
God, and he shall say to Him, "Here I am, with all my faults 
and sins, take me and I pray thee give me Mercy, Peace, Com- 
fort." 

"Out where the hand clasps a little stronger; 
Out where a smile dwells a little longer; 
That's where the West begins; 

Out where the sun is a little brighter; 
Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter; 

Where the bonds of home are a wee bit lighter; 
That's where the West begins. 
"Out where the skies are a trifle bluer; 

Out where friendship's a little truer; 
That's where the West begins. 

Out where a fresher breeze is blowing; 
Where there's laughter in every streamlet flowing; 

Where there's more of reaping and less of sowing; 
That's where the West begins. 
"Out where the world is in the making; 

Where fewer hearts with despair are aching; a 

That's where the West begins. 

Where there's more of singing and less of sighing; 
Where there's more of giving and less of buying; 

And a man makes friends without trying; 
That's where the West begins." 

Chapman. 
And now the finis and in conclusion — we of course realize 
that this little book will be of no particular interest to a gen- 
eral reading public, and perhaps our own personal friends and 
immediate family relations, to whom we will expect to offer one, 
may pass it up, but withall, that will not make us feel sad or 
resentful or hurt, because some one may know and I will feel 
that I have had my little pleasures in writing it, and will have 
had my little satisfactions in putting it together, and I will 
have had those little delightful memories brought up from the 
stirring scenes related herein. 

And finally when the curiosity and novelty has worn off 
and the little thing is, scuffed about, trampled on, battered 
around, and shoved behind the clock, and from there to the old 
garret, where all of the old literary gems are often stored, then 

134 



eventually it will reach the woodhouse ready for the junk pile. 
About this time it may happen that our little granddaughters, 
Peegy Hina', and Ruth Ellen, in their dear sweet childish way, 
will be looking, some day, for something to play with — they may 
dig the little thing out from the bottom of an old barrel. It 
may have the back torn off, there may be some leaves missing, 
it may be disheveled and dirty; let's hope and wish that some 
little word'or some short phrase may hold their attention to the 
end, and then perhaps they will realize and be able to tell their 
little playmates and companions what a whale of a feller Gran- 
fadda' was since Eighteen Hundred and Seventy Eight. 

Adios 
and 
Buenos Noches 




THE END OF THE TRAIL 



135 



